1\ 

•^ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SMI7H3 
>RRS  Oh  ROOK* 
»*ACIF1C 
B«ACM.  C 


Alice 


EDWARD 
REYNOLDS 


BY 


WILLIAM     L.    LILLIBRIDGE 


THE     GRAFTON     PRESS 
NEW    YORK 


Copyright  1902  by 
THE  GRAFTON  PRESS 


First  Impression,  September,  1902 


f  ?s 


To 
JAMES    KERR 


1512281 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 

CHAPTER   I. 

"Well!" 

As  the  girl  spoke,  she  glanced  with  flashing 
eyes  into  the  face  of  her  companion. 

"Please,  Alice,  don't  annihilate  me.  In  what 
have  I  offended  you?" 

When  a  woman  is  angry  with  a  man,  she  is  sel- 
dom mollified  by  being  informed  that  her  wrath  is 
without  foundation  in  reason.  It  is  unpardon- 
able to  imply,  much  less  to  assert,  that  the  gentler 
sex  displays  temper  without  sufficient  provocation. 

"I  just  don't  care  that,  Mr.  Reynolds,"  empha- 
sizing "that"  by  a  vehement  snap  of  the  thumb 
and  forefinger. 

The  "Mr.  Reynolds"  affected  not  to  notice  the 
small  regard  in  which  his  opinions  were  held,  and 
walked  on  in  silence  by  the  side  of  the  excited  girl. 
It  was  the  first  exhibition  of  temper  since  the  days 
of  their  childish  misunderstandings.  It  was  the 
day  of  all  days  when  peace  and  good-will  should 

1 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

prevail  among  men — Christmas  Day,  1848,  and 
the  parties  to  the  quarrel  belonged  to  the  patri- 
cian class  of  quaint,  old  Philadelphia  society. 

Alice  Richards  had  scarcely  passed  the  thresh- 
old of  woman's  domain,  her  tiny  feet  all-reluctant 
to  cross  the  borderland  of  womanhood.  She  was 
but  fifteen  years  of  age.  Yesterday,  in  fact  an 
hour  ago,  she  had  been  a  girl  in  fancy,  thought, 
being;  now,  she  was  a  woman.  Shocks  produce 
these  changes. 

What  would  we  not  give — we,  who  have  been 
tossed  and  tumbled  by  the  angry  to  and  fro  of 
life's  struggles — to  creep  back  and  rest,  ever  so 
brief  a  time,  in  those  arms  once  more — childhood's 
arms,  that  are  rent  asunder  with  such  pitiless 
force,  while  the  trustfulness  of  all  the  happy,  holy 
peace  of  youth  and  innocence  is  pushed  bodily  out 
into  the  full  glare  of  sinister,  relentless  sham  and 
deception!  Out  of  what  wide  eyes  one  looks  for 
the  first  time  upon  the  meanness  and  littleness  of 
just  common,  every-day  life. 

Alice  had  started  from  home  to  purchase  a 
present  for  a  young  friend,  that  had  been  forgot- 
ten the  day  before,  and  was  debating  earnestly  as 
she  walked,  or  rather  ran,  upon  the  gift  that 
would  delight  its  future  possessor  most.  Girl 
fashion,  she  finally  paused  in  front  of  an  attrac- 
tive display  window  and  began  studying  the  exhi- 
bition intently,  with  a  view  of  settling  the  ques- 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

tion  of  purchase  by  the  suggestions  prompted 
by  the  thoughtfulness  of  enterprising  shop- 
keepers. 

Others  were  evidently  doing  likewise.  Among 
the  number  were  a  detective  and  a  small  boy.  The 
detective  was  standing  close  to  the  lad,  and  had 
succeeded  in  engaging  him  in  conversation. 

"What  did  Santa  Claus  do  for  you?"  inquired 
the  detective,  patronizingly. 

"There  hain't  no  Santa  Claus,"  replied  the  boy. 

"Oh!     Isn't  there?" 

"No." 

"Yes,  there  is,  too." 

"Our  mamma  and  papa  is  Santa  Claus." 

"Come  off,  you're  wrong.  Anyway,  what  did 
your  'papa'  and  'mamma'  Santa  Claus  put  in  your 
stocking?" 

The  boy  made  no  answer. 

"I'll  bet  you  didn't  get  a  thing,"  continued  the 
questioner. 

"My  mamma  and  papa  are  dead,"  said  the  boy, 
at  last,  in  a  husky,  choked  voice. 

Alice  had  stopped  so  close  to  the  two  that  she 
overheard  the  latter  part  of  the  conversation.  In- 
voluntarily she  glanced  at  the  youth,  and,  despite 
his  rags,  her  heart  was  touched  by  his  sadness. 

"Look  here  now,  how  does  that  read?"  inquired 
the  detective,  pointing  at  a  placard  to  which  was 
secured  a  jack-knife. 

3 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"This  knife  offered  by  Santa  Claus  for  twenty- 
five  cents,"  promptly  read  the  boy  aloud. 

"You  read  well.     Can  you  write?" 

"Why,  of  course,"  assented  the  boy. 

"Yes,  you  can,"  replied  the  man,  skeptically. 

"Well,  I  can." 

"Let  me  see,"  continued  the  detective,  producing 
a  pencil  and  tablet,  "write  twenty-five  cents." 

The  boy  took  the  pencil  and  book  extended  to- 
ward him  and  unsuspectingly  wrote,  "25  cents." 

"Write — well,  for  instance,  write — chicken." 

The  boy  wrote  "chikin." 

The  man  watched  closely  the  exercise  upon 
which  the  lad  was  employed.  Finally,  the  boy 
glanced  up  into  the  man's  face.  As  he  did  so,  a 
piece  of  paper  was  shoved  before  his  eyes. 

"Did  you  write  that?"  demanded  the  detect- 
ive. 

The  look  of  pleasure  in  the  lad's  eyes  in  parad- 
ing his  attainments  suddenly  changed  to  one  of 
horror  and  dismay. 

"You  are  my  prisoner,"  said 'the  officer,  seizing 
the  boy  by  the  shoulder. 

"Please,  sir,  what  has  he  done?" 

The  detective  turned  abruptly  and  met  the 
questioning  eyes  of  the  girl,  and  replied  respect- 
fully: "He  has  been  stealing  chickens." 

"Chickens!"  The  detective  smiled  at  the  sudden 
revulsion  in  the  girl's  face.  "He  looks  so  young 

4 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

and  innocent,"  commented  the  girl  turning  once 
more  to  the  boy,  "it  seems  impossible.  Don't  ar- 
rest him  to-day.  Maybe  he  will  do  better  in  the 
future,"  she  pleaded,  "maybe,"  she  continued, 
glancing  again  at  the  up-turned  face  of  the  boy — 
into  eyes  that  shrank  not  from  her  steady  gaze, 
"maybe  he  did  not  take  them." 

"He  won't  deny  it,  miss.  Didn't  you  take  a 
chicken  from  Farmer  Jones'  coop  last  Saturday 
night?"  questioned  the  man  of  the  boy. 

The  boy  made  no  answer. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  him?  Answer,"  whispered 
the  girl,  stepping  nearer. 

Still  there  was  no  response. 

"See !  He  admits  it ;  or,  at  least,  does  not  deny 
the  charge,"  justified  the  officer.  "Come  with  me," 
and  he  gave  the  boy  a  push. 

The  girl  glided  forward,  drawn  by  some  irre- 
sistible impulse. 

"Did  you — did  you — "  she  could  not  speak  the 
word  steal.  "Did  you  take  the  chickens?"  she 
asked,  obstructing  their  progress. 

"I  took  one  chicken,  yes." 

The  officer  smiled,  cynically.  The  girl,  who  had 
for  the  first  time  come  in  contact  with  crime,  turned 
in  a  dazed  manner  and  walked  away.  She  heard 
the  lad  pleading  with  the  officer,  the  tones  growing 
angry  and  loud.  She  walked  rapidly  to  pass  be- 
yond the  contending  voices.  Suddenly  a  small 

5 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

object  darted  before  her.  It  was  the  boy — and, 
yes — the  detective,  also. 

"Show  her  the  letter,"  cried  the  lad,  his  face 
aflame,  and  eyes  dilating,  "and  I  will  go."  It  was 
with  no  gentle  hand  that  the  man  grabbed  the  boy 
and  drew  him  aside.  "I  never  stole  in  all  my  life," 
protested  the  boy,  looking  straight  into  the  eyes 
of  the  unknown  girl. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Alice. 

"Show  her  the  letter,"  reiterated  the  lad.  "Let 
someone  in  all  the  world  think  me  honest." 

"Have  you  a  letter,  sir?"  asked  the  girl,  ad- 
dressing the  lad's  captor. 

"Yes,  you  may  read  it,"  placing  in  her  hands  a 
piece  of  ordinary  wrapping  paper  with  lead  pen- 
cil writing  upon  it. 

"Farmer  Jones,"  she  read  with  difficulty,  "you 
will  find  in  this  here  leter  25  cents  to  pay  for  a 
chikin  we  took  last  saterday  nite  from  your  koop. 
it  was  for  a  sick  woman,  we  sed  we  would  pay 
you  with  the  first  money  we  erned.  we  tried  hard 
to  get  a  chikin  at  the  market  but  no  one  would 
let  us  have  any  and  there  was  nothin  else  to  do. 
the  chikin  wade  3  pounds  dresed.  we  asked  and 
found  out  the  price  what  chikins  is  worth,  we 
didn't  eat  any  ourselves  and  the  woman  is  gettin 
better,  its  tuff  to  pay  this  money  bout  crismus 
time  but  maybe  God  would  cause  a  relapes  if  we 

6 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

didn't  do  as  we  greed  to.  we  hope  we  won't  have 
to  take  any  more  of  your  poltry  but  if  we  do  we'll 
settle  cause  it  can't  be  helped. 

"yours  trulie, 

"2  boys." 

Alice  handed  the  paper  back  to  the  officer,  and 
stepping  to  the  side  of  the  small  boy,  took  his 
little  grimy  hand  in  hers. 

"I  believe  you,"  then  turning  to  the  officer,  she 
asked,  "What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him?" 

"Take  him  to  the  magistrate." 

"What  will  the  magistrate  do  with  him?" 

"Send  him  to  jail  or  the  reformatory." 

"Oh,  no,  not  to-day.  Let  him  go  home  with 
me." 

"If  you  were  older  and  more  experienced,  I 
should  be  angry;  but  I  am  simply  amused.  What 
you  ask  is  impossible." 

"But  I  will  pay  for  the  chicken,"  producing  her 
portemonnaie. 

"There  were  eight  chickens  stolen  in  all,"  de- 
clared the  detective.  "He  admits  of  taking  but 
one." 

"I  didn't  take  but  one  either,"  cried  the  boy. 

"Well,  I  will  pay  for  the  eight,  only  release 
him." 

"Who  are  you?"  inquired  the  officer,  respect- 
fully. 

7 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Before  she  could  reply,  a  young  man  stepped 
forward. 

"Jack,"  he  said,  familiarly,  addressing  the  of- 
ficer, "yield  to  this  young  lady.  Whatever  sum  is 
required,  I  undertake  its  discharge." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Reynolds,"  replied  the  officer, 
obligingly. 

The  face  and  throat  of  the  girl  were  crimson, 
then  became  white  as  snow.  There  was  no  ap- 
proval in  the  newcomer's  eyes.  Her  conduct  was 
the  source  of  displeasure.  His  face  was  stern,  al- 
most forbidding.  She  felt  that  he  had  been  a  si- 
lent spectator  to  all  that  had  taken  place,  and  came 
forward  only  to  prevent  the  disclosure  of  her 
identity.  The  man,  whose  bride  she  was  to  be- 
come some  day,  had  revealed  his  presence  to 
spare  the  woman  he  was  to  wed  publicity.  There 
was  a  strange  glittering  light  in  the  girl's  eyes, 
and  the  lips  were  tightly  compressed.  Let  conse- 
quences be  as  they  might,  her  resolution  was 
taken. 

"I  thank  Mr.  Reynolds  for  his  proffered  assist- 
ance," she  said,  deliberately,  "but  I  cannot  accept 
the  obligation.  You,  sir,"  addressing  the  officer, 
"will  either  call  at  the  residence  of  Banker  Rich- 
ards, whose  daughter  offers  herself  this  boy's 
bondsman,  for  your  money,  or  you  shall  have  to 
keep  the  boy  in  custody,  until  he  can  be  legally 
released." 

8 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"  Come  on,  here !"  exclaimed  the  boy,  pulling  at 
the  detective's  coat,  "I'm  ready." 

"Very  well,  Miss  Richards,"  replied  the  officer, 
ignoring  the  efforts  of  the  lad,  "I  will  do  as  you 
desire,"  and  politely  touching  his  hat,  the  detective 
started  to  walk  away,  when  he  was  arrested  by  the 
young  lady  with  the  remark  that,  perhaps,  she  had 
sufficient  money  with  her  to  satisfy  all  claims.  Up- 
on being  informed  that  three  dollars  would  be  re- 
quired, she  carefully  told  out  the  amount  and  the 
officer  departed. 

Edward  Reynolds  regarded  the  incident  as 
ninety-nine  men  out  of  every  hundred  would  have 
done.  There  are  persons  whose  special  business  it 
is  to  do  what  the  best  interests  of  society  demand 
for  this  unfortunate  class.  Interference  of  out- 
side influences  seldom,  if  ever,  proves  an  advantage. 
Societies  innumerable  are  formed  with  enlightened 
views  concerning  the  reformation  of  young  male- 
factors. There  are  humane  judges  and  houses  of 
correction;  no  end  of  money  is  raised  and  dis- 
bursed annually  in  all  large  cities  to  amend  this 
increasing  nuisance.  True,  the  result  of  all  these 
experiments  is  not  as  yet  entirely  satisfactory. 

Here  was  an  unsophisticated,  tender-hearted  girl 
the  dupe  and  victim  of  one  of  this  designing  class. 
He  had  witnessed  the  entire  transaction,  thinking 
best  not  to  let  her  know  that  he  had  been  an  ob- 
server of  the  weak  defenses  of  her  nature  until  it 

9 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

became  necessary  in  his  judgment  to  shield  her 
name  from  the  inquisitive  columns  of  the  press. 
He  was  prompted  by  the  best  of  motives  in  the 
matter,  and  had  his  trouble  for  his  pains;  not  an 
unusual  reward  for  volunteers. 

Alice  had  not  failed  to  interpret  the  manifest 
displeasure,  unquestionably  produced  by  her  con- 
duct. She  had  considered  Edward  kind  and  sym- 
pathetic and  now  felt  the  resentment  of  the  de- 
ceived. He  was  cold  and  cruel  by  nature ;  he  would 
increase  the  burdens  of  the  poor.  Hero  worship 
had  ended.  She  had  trusted  and  loved  this  tyrant. 
An  analysis  of  her  present  feelings  was  very  dif- 
ferent. Thus  they  walked,  with  the  boy  a  short 
distance  in  the  rear,  too  occupied  with  their  own 
thoughts  to  be  communicative.  Alice  was  con- 
ducting the  lad  home,  by  no  means  over-confident 
of  his  reception.  She  broke  the  silence  finally 
with  the  opening  word  of  this  chapter. 

"Come,  Alice,  let's  make  up.  We  must  not 
break  the  peace  to-day."  The  overture  of  recon- 
ciliation came  from  him. 

"I'm  not  angry  now." 

"I'm  greatly  relieved,"  he  replied,  sincerely. 

"Only,"  she  commenced,  "I've  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  other  world — the  one  in  which  we  do  not 
live.  Is  it  not  strange  there  should  be  two  worlds 
so  near  each  other  and  yet  so  inaccessible,  so  \\ide 
apart?"  she  inquired. 

10 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"By  no  means  strange,  Alice.  Society  is  in  a 
mixed  and  conglomerate  state.  Your  sweet  young 
life  has  been  secluded  and  sheltered  from  contact 
with  all  but  the  best.  These  worlds,  as  you  style 
them,  are  indeed  so  very  remote  from  each  other 
that  the  inhabitants  of  one  are  denied  entrance  to 
the  other." 

"But  the  boundaries,  what  fixes  them?" 

"Man." 

"But  God — is  God  the  same  in  both  these 
worlds  ?" 

"Well,  yes,"  he  replied,  "God  is  the  refuge  of 
all  alike." 

"Why,  then,  the  social  exclusion?" 

"Because  experience  has  demonstrated  the  wis- 
dom of  the  system,"  he  answered. 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  mean  by  the  'wis- 
dom of  the  system,'  "  she  admitted. 

"Well,"  he  proceeded,  didactically,  "you  see 
every  attempt  that  has  been  made  to  equalize  so- 
ciety has  utterly  failed.  Man  is  fitted  for  differ- 
ent spheres.  Wealth,  ability,  refinement  seek  a 
social  plane,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  poverty,  de- 
pravity and  ignorance  occupy  positions  by  them- 
selves on  a  much  inferior  level.  To  undertake  to 
destroy  the  lines  between  the  two  would  demoralize 
society.  The  law  of  social  economics  is  clearly  un- 
derstood and  must  not  be  undervalued.  It  often 
happens  that  men  of  most  upright  motives  have 
11 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

used  up  the  energies  of  lifetimes  in  trying  to  unite 
your  two  worlds  together,  with  the  sole  result  of 
endangering  the  security  of  each.  To-day  it  has 
come  to  be  regarded  as  unsafe  to  interfere  except 
by  the  rigid  enforcement  of  police  regulations, 
which  protects  one  of  your  worlds  by  repressing, 
through  fear  of  severe  penalties,  the  lawless  en- 
croachment of  the  other." 

"How  many  men  of  prominence  have  been  known 
to  work  for  the  advancement  of  the  poorer  classes  ?" 
inquired  Alice,  evidently  startled  by  the  arguments 
of  her  companion. 

"Well,"  began  Edward,  hesitatingly,  "the  in- 
stances are  not  so  numerous  as  you  may  think  the 
case  demands ;  but — well — the  acknowledged  failure 
of  the  efforts  made  is  sufficient  discouragement  to 
prevent  all  but  enthusiasts  engaging  in  the  labor." 

"But  suppose  everyone,"  persisted  Alice,  "should 
do  a  little.  Suppose  you  and  I,  and  thousands 
similarly  situated,  just  starting  in  life,  should  re- 
solve to  labor  in  behalf  of  the  more  unfortunate, 
surely  some  good  would  be  accomplished." 

"You  and  /,"  repeated  the  young  man,  aghast, 
"why,  Alice,  you  should  not  permit  the  circum- 
stance you  have  inadvertently  witnessed  to  make 
such  a  deep  impression  upon  your  mind.  Your 
young  life  is  already  unhappy.  Promise  not  to  let 
the  mischief  cloud  more  of  this  bright  Christmas 
Da." 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

They  had  arrived  at  the  home  of  the  girl,  and 
Alice  paused  to  permit  the  boj  to  enter  the  gate. 

"Where  in  the  name  of  the  Seven  Wonders  have 
you  been — what  have  you  there?"  It  was  a  girlish 
voice,  issuing  from  within  the  grounds. 

"Mr.  Reynolds  is  with  me,  Eleanore,  and  this 
boy."  Alice's  voice  betrayed  irritation,  and  El- 
eanore became  suddenly  discreet. 

"Aren't  you  coming  in?"  inquired  Eleanore  of 
the  young  gentleman,  as  Alice  marched  away  with 
the  lad  in  the  direction  of  the  house,  without 
further  notice  of  the  others  present. 

"She's  in  a  dreadful  huff,"  whispered  Edward. 

Here  followed,  much  to  Eleanore's  amusement,  a 
full  description  of  what  had  preceded  their  ar- 
rival. 

"Just  like  the  dear  child,"  exclaimed  the  girl> 
enthusiastically,  "she  is  tender  hearted,  noble  and 
just  as  good  as  she  can  be." 

"She  is  only  a  child  at  best,"  declared  Edward, 
"an  impulsive  child." 

"At  this  point  the  conversation  was  interrupted 
by  the  re-appearance  of  Alice  and  the  boy.  The 
lad  carried  a  large  basket  in  his  hand,  and  h? 
marched  past  the  gossipers,  disdaining  to  glance 
in  their  direction. 

"Come  back  to-morrow,"  cried  Alice  to  the  de- 
parting figure. 

"Thank  you,"  replied  a  voice  near  the  basket. 
13 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Then  Alice  discovered  her  friends,  but  did  not 
approach  them.  Eleanore  fled  into  the  house,  and 
Edward  leisurely  strolled  to  the  side  of  the  girl. 
Neither  of  them  spoke  at  first,  Alice  watching 
the  boy  as  he  grew  less  and  less  in  the  distance, 
an  unaccustomed  look  in  her  deep  blue  eyes. 

"A  penny  for  your  thought,"  bargained  Ed- 
ward. 

"What  became  of  Eleanore?"  she  asked,  trying 
heroically  to  throw  off  her  depression. 

"She  went  into  the  house." 

"Come,  I  wish  you  to  see  my  presents,"  said 
Alice,  brightening. 

"But  tell  me  first,  Alice  dear,  of  what  you  were 
thinking,"  he  persisted,  taking  her  hands  in  his, 
firmly. 

"Oh !  It  is  gone  now  and  forgotten,"  trying  to 
disengage  her  hands. 

"Not  until  you  have  told  me,"  tightening  his 
grasp,  "it  is  a  sad  thought  and  I  want  to  dis- 
pel it." 

"I  was  wondering,"  said  Alice,  her  eyes  turning 
once  more  up  the  street  the  boy  with  the  basket  had 
taken,  "to  which  of  those  worlds  I  belong — to 
yours,  or  to  that  boy's." 

"I  shall  keep  you,  please  God,  in  mine,"  he  said 
fervently. 


14 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  II. 

Two  years  at  a  seminary  had  passed  Alice  Rich- 
ards into  womanhood.  In  stature,  just  a  trifle 
above  medium  height,  supple,  graceful,  willowy. 
Whatever  may  be  claimed  for  the  contrary, 
girls  at  the  age  of  sixteen  are  never  handsome. 
There  is  something  about  that  period  that  dis- 
guises, or,  at  least,  masquerades.  Two  years  ago, 
to  have  claimed  for  Alice  that  she  was  good  looking 
might  even  have  savored  of  exaggeration.  She  had 
given  promise  of  no  greater  pretensions  to  the  fair 
goddess's  favors  than  the  average  girl. 

Is  she  really,  in  the  common  vernacular,  beauti- 
ful ?  Well,  that  depends.  Hers  was  an  intellectual 
face,  but  not  the  kind  of  intellectuality  that  sways 
and  dominates  the  affections.  The  heart,  the  mind, 
the  soul  were  reflected  quickly  into  those  sensitive, 
luminous  features. 

Fortunately,  there  is  no  iron-clad  rule  by  which 
woman  is  adjudged  beautiful  or  otherwise.  What 
pleases  one  person  may  excite  ridicule  in  another. 
The  opinion  of  man  differs  as  widely  upon  this  most 
interesting  subject  as  upon  other  matters.  Con- 
sequently, there  is  seldom  either  man  or  woman  but 
has  some  honest  admirer.  We  have  all  seen  faces 
15 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

faultlessly  regular,  endowed  with  complexions  rival- 
ing the  transparent  tint  of  sea-shell,  crowned  with 
masses  of  waving  hair,  and  have  greatly  marveled 
that  such  pains  should  have  been  taken  in  display- 
ing wares  so  cheap.  Again,  one  is  irresistibly 
drawn  by  an  indescribable  something  in  very  com- 
mon faces,  the  charm  of  which  is  as  difficult  of 
estimating  as  the  faculties  are  of  comprehending. 
There  was  a  rich  color  in  Alice's  face,  enhanced 
by  the  white  filmy  dress  which  she  wore.  Edward 
Reynolds  was  coming  to  call  upon  her.  It  was  the 
third  time  they  had  met  since  their  return  from 
college.  In  fact,  within  the  last  two  years  they 
had  seen  but  little  of  each  other.  These  two,  who, 
since  their  first  recollection  had  been  betrothed, 
were  in  a  way  becoming  comparative  strangers. 
Alice  at  a  finishing  school,  Edward  at  Yale, 
with  a  desultory  correspondence,  had  not  been  the 
best  calculated  to  retain,  much  less  awaken,  affec- 
tion. Just  when  these  two  had  become  engaged, 
if  there  had  ever  been  a  formal  engagement, 
neither  could  have  told.  When  Alice  was  born,  the 
disappointment  at  Banker  Richards'  was  ill-con- 
cealed. The  banker  had  desired  a  son  and  so  far 
from  consulting  his  wishes,  he  had  been  presented 
a  daughter.  He  was  confiding  his  parental  trouble 
to  his  business  associate  and  most  intimate  friend, 
John  Reynolds,  when  the  latter  gentleman  re- 
minded him  that  he  had  a  son,  and  that  it  should  be 
16 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

no  fault  of  his,  if  the  two  families  were  not  more 
closely  united  by  the  advent  of  the  little  girl.  From 
that  hour  there  was  a  compact  between  the  two 
houses.  The  children  at  an  early  age  made  the 
discovery  of  their  future  matrimonial  disposi- 
tion, and  grew  up  well  content  to  carry  the 
arrangement  into  effect.  Alice  was  fond  of 
the  big  boy  lover,  and  the  big  boy,  five  years 
her  senior,  even  considered  the  matter  far 
more  seriously,  and  permitted  his  boyish  regards 
to  go  out  freely  to  his  future  bride.  With  a  loy- 
alty lacking  in  much  older  men,  no  other  woman 
had  been  allowed  to  enter  his  mind.  He  contem- 
plated marriage  between  Alice  and  himself  as  both 
a  filial  duty  and  a  personal  privilege.  Coming 
home  from  college  he  was  not  prepared  for  the 
change  in  Alice.  Instead  of  a  wilful  slip  of  a  girl, 
he  was  confronting  an  incomparable  creature,  of 
whose  loveliness  he  had  never  remotely  conjectured. 
Upon  beholding  her,  Edward  was  conscious  of  an 
inexperienced  sensation,  a  new  strange  intoxica- 
tion— a  revelation  that  struck  every  chord  into  vi- 
bration. He  had  supposed  that  he  already  felt  for 
Alice  all  the  high  regard  and  love  that  man  is 
capable  of  feeling  for  woman. 

The  second  day  had  passed  at  home,  before  he 

thought  of  calling  to  pay  his  respects  to  Alice. 

There  had  been  so  many  things  to  talk  over  with 

father  and  mother;  so  many  friends  dropped  in 

17 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

during  the  time,  that  the  propriety  of  calling  had 
not  occurred.  True,  he  was  glad  to  go;  it  was 
so  long  since  they  had  seen  each  other.  There  was, 
besides,  an  important  subject  that  had  better,  per- 
haps, be  discussed  concerning  their  future  happi- 
ness. It  is  not  meet  for  man  to  live  alone,  and  so 
far  as  he  could  see,  there  was  no  reason  why  an 
early  date  should  not  be  fixed  for  the  marriage. 
Before  speaking  to  his  parents  upon  the  subject, 
he  would  mention  the  matter  to  her.  It  would 
be  more  delicate  and  considerate.  Betty,  the 
old  colored  servant  ushered  him  into  the  fa- 
miliar drawing  room  and  hastened  away,  bearing 
his  card  to  Miss  Alice.  This  young  lady  had  ex- 
pected his  visit  the  preceding  day  and  was  not 
in  the  most  amiable  mood,  being  half  minded  to 
send  word  that  she  was  indisposed.  She  thought 
better  of  it,  however,  and  her  visitor  was  informed 
that  "Miss  Richards  would  be  down  directly." 
Edward  was  not  at  all  nervous  about  the 
interview.  The  affair,  in  every  way  advantageous, 
had  been  settled  by  their  parents  and  ratified  in  a 
way  by  themselves.  The  sound  of  rustling  gar- 
ments sent  a  thrill  through  him.  With  a  smile 
upon  his  lips,  he  rose  and  turned  to  greet  Alice 
with  perfect  ease — even  sang-froid,  then  the  smile 
vanished,  and  Edward  was  staring,  actually  star- 
ing at  the  woman  before  him,  and  a  sudden  fear — 
the  fear  born  of  love — rendered  him  speechless. 
18 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

He  had  held  Alice  loyally  in  his  heart.  He  had 
always  been  chivalrous  and  deferential,  as  in  duty 
bound  he  honored,  but  until  this  present  moment 
he  had  never  loved  her.  Now,  with  this  sudden 
enthrallment — his  heart  passing  irrevocably,  he 
read  in  those  eyes  looking  calmly  into  his  o.wn  no 
answering  sentiment. 

"How  beautiful!"  he  exclaimed,  involuntarily, 
standing  as  though  spellbound  where  he  had 
risen. 

"Unless  you  wish  me  to  think  the  contrary,"  she 
replied,  smiling,  "you  had  better  shake  hands." 

He  took  the  proffered  hand  and  held  it,  still 
feasting  his  eyes  upon  her  face,  resolving,  as  it 
were,  all  doubts  in  her  mind  as  to  his  impression. 

"Why,  Alice,  I  hardly  knew  you,"  he  declared. 

"Not  greatly  to  be  wondered  at,"  she  replied, 
"it  has  been  two  years  since  we  parted." 

"What  a  hope  the  future  contains,"  evidently 
relieved  by  the  thought  that  there  should  be  no 
more  separation. 

"Did  you  arrive  home  to-day?"  she  inquired, 
innocently. 

"No,  I  came  yesterday,  or  the  day  before,"  he 
confessed.  "Mother  was  arbitrary,  friends  called, 
time  passed " 

"Oh,  indeed,  how  delightful,"  serenely. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richards  entered  the  room  and  the 
evening  was  spent  in  general  conversation.  Some- 
19 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

how,  Alice  felt  disappointed  in  Edward.  He 
seemed  pre-occupied.  She  was  aware  of  a  certain 
reserve  in  his  manner.  His  reticence  troubled  her. 
He,  too,  had  come  to  feel  the  force  of  her  words 
spoken  at  their  parting  two  years  ago.  They  did 
not  belong  to  the  same  world. 

Alice  resolved  to  ask  for  her  freedom;  that 
the  engagement  be  broken ;  that  the  fetters  placed 
upon  her  life  by  parents,  however  much  they  loved 
her,  be  removed ;  that  the  privilege  prized  so  highly 
by  all  women  of  choosing  for  themselves  be  per- 
mitted her.  She  felt  that  she  had  never  relin- 
quished the  right. 

A  Christmas  Day  two  years  ago  was  in  no  small 
degree  responsible  for  this  decision.  How  many 
times  since  that  eventful  day  had  she  questioned 
their  happiness  as  husband  and  wife.  Romance — 
romance  is  a  part  of  every  girl's  life — had  been  de- 
stroyed, as  she  firmly  believed.  Alice  was  not 
visionary,  but  the  thought  of  being  engaged  by 
others  was  not  in  entire  agreement  with  her  sub- 
sequently acquired  notions  of  propriety.  She  was 
fully  persuaded  that  had  her  parents  been  less 
officious  in  matrimonial  affairs  in  which  Edward 
and  herself  were  principally  concerned,  it  would 
have  been  better.  Edward  and  she  were  the  suf- 
ferers in  that  their  losses  included  the  attractions 
of  courtship.  Early  betrothals  may  be  convenient 
in  Monarchial  institutions,  but  in  Republics,  the 
20 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

opposite  rule  obtains.  The  reasons  for  preserving 
estates  in  the  one  are  considered  secondary  to  se- 
curing happiness  in  the  other.  Two  years  ago, 
she  would  have  been  distressed  by  the  thought  of 
giving  up  her  "big  boy"  lover,  but  now,  in  the 
light  of  lately  acquired  wisdom,  together  with  the 
fact  that  they  had  been  so  very  little  in  each 
other's  society,  it  would  be  accompanied  with  no 
sacrifice  to  either.  Fate  had  been  kind  to  them  in 
opening  their  eyes  to  realities.  Delusions  of  child- 
hood and  the  reflections  of  years  are  experiences 
incidental  to  life,  but  always  to  be  discriminated 
in  favor  of  advanced  enlightenment.  Marriage  is 
more  than  a  civil  contract,  it  is  a  sacrament.  Mar- 
riage without  love  is  sacrilege.  Sentiment  is  one 
thing;  love  quite  another.  They  had  dabbled  in 
the  former.  They  were — well — they  were — yes, 
she  was  sure,  as  positive  as  one  may  well  be  of  any- 
thing in  this  mundane  sphere,  within  the  saving 
grace  of  sentiment. 

Edward  had  disappointed  her.  He  was  vastly 
different.  The  bonds  were  alike  burdensome  to 
him.  His  evident  embarrassment  at  their  meetings ; 
his  coldness  because  she  waltzed  with  Frank  Craw- 
ford, only  the  night  before,  whose  dancing  was 
perfection,  convinced  her  of  his  changed  feelings 
toward  herself.  Besides,  he  paid  Florence  Herbert 
such  marked  attention  the  same  evening  that  others 
commented  upon  it,  to  say  nothing  about  rumors 
21 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

she  had  heard  of  them  while  Florence  was  living 
with  her  uncle  at  New  Haven. 

Well,  if  he  preferred  Florence,  the  matter  was 
simple  enough;  he  could  have  her  and  welcome. 
She  emphatically  objected  to  any  plan  of  division 
whereby  she  received  the  thunder  of  his  counte- 
nance and  Florence  the  sunshine.  These  reflections 
were  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  approaching 
footsteps,  and  glancing  from  the  window,  she  dis- 
covered Edward  and  her  adopted  brother,  as  she 
had  come  to  call  the  little  boy,  whom  she  had 
rescued  from  the  officer  of  the  law,  two  years  ago, 
walking  familiarly  side  by  side  toward  the  house. 

"Dress  and  circumstance  are  potent  factors  in 
his  estimation,"  she  admitted,  sotto  voce,  by  no 
means  arguing  well  for  the  stylishly  dressed  gentle- 
man. She  even  felt  resentment  against  her 
adopted  brother  for  encouraging  the  intimacy. 

Well,  for  old  times'  sake  she  would  be  civil. 

"Good  evening,  Edward,"  advancing  to  meet  him. 

"Good  evening,  Miss  Richards." 

Miss  Richards! 

"Will  you  come  in  and  be  seated?"  with  bor- 
rowed sweetness. 

"Thank  you." 

"How  did  you  enjoy  the  party?"  she  inquired. 

"It  was  a  hideous  nightmare." 

"Your  appearances  were  anything  but  sleepy 
whenever  I  saw  you."  she  remarked,  innocently. 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Rare  occasions.  I  wish  I  were  more  fortu- 
nate." 

"Quite  the  contrary.  Perhaps  I  saw  too  much. 
Miss  Herbert  is  charming.  I  heard  several  making 
complimentary  speeches  about  yourself  -&nd  Miss 
Herbert." 

"I  was  not  aware  of  the  kindness.  Pray,  was 
Mr.  Crawford  among  the  number  of  those  sound- 
ing our  praises?" 

"Oh,  indeed!    He  is  very  clever." 

"He  dances  well." 

"Superbly!" 

"Say,  Alice,  let's  banish  these  two  years  from 
our  lives." 

"Years,  like  words  spoken,  never  can  be  re- 
called," oracularly. 

"Well,  forget  them,  then." 

"Really,  do  you  think  it  possible? — Come,  you 
hesitate." 

"I  was  thinking  of  a  suitable  reply." 

"Then  I  regret  the  interruption." 

"I  can  never  go  back — fully — we  have  both 
changed V 

"Yes,,  apparently." 

"In  the  last  four  days,  I  have  lived  four  hun- 
dred years." 

"What  a  pity !  How  much  peace  of  mind  de- 
pends upon  a  poor  memory." 

"May  I  refresh  yours?" 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"With  the  burden  of  four  hundred  years? 
Mercy,  no." 

"With  the  hopes  of  time  and  eternity." 

"Contradictions!  First  it  is  burdens,  then, 
hopes.  Still  we  are  asked  to  put  faith  in  man," 
resignedly. 

"I  am  come  to  keep  faith." 

"And  find  it  the  burden  of  four  hundred  years. 
It  must  be  the  pricks  of  heavy  conscience.  What 
a  pity  the  sale  of  indulgences  has  gone  out  of 
use." 

"My  conscience  is  the  least  of  my  troubles." 

"A  man's  conscience  is  his  privilege." 

"Yes!     In  what  respect?" 

"Rather  ask  me  to  generalize.  Let  me  see — 
but,  first,  will  you  confess " 

"I  come  to  confess " 

"To  the  point,  will  you  admit,  if  I  give  the 
right  analysis?" 

"You  are  so  much  in  the  wrong,  a  promise  is 
safe.  Proceed." 

"Do  you  promise?" 

"Of  course." 

"A  man's  conscience,"  she  proceeded,  with  great 
deliberation,  "is  a  license — a  law  unto  itself,  that 
authorizes  any  and  every  means  to  the  gratifica- 
tion of  his  pleasure  and  amusement." 

"Women  give  us  our  code  of  morals." 

"From  Adam's  time  to  the  present,  woman  is 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

the  faH  of  man,"  she  laughed.  "According  to 
tradition  you  must  acknowledge,  she  is  greatly 
traduced." 

"And  greatly  loved,"  he  said,  resolutely. 

"There!  You  deserve  an  apple,"  passing  one 
to  him.  "See,  I  will  eat  of  the  fruit  first." 

"I  trust  we  shall  never  be  driven  from  the  Gar- 
den for  the  transgression." 

"I  warrant,  tho',  as  the  avenging  angel  ap- 
proached, you  would  exclaim,  after  the  manner  of 
the  illustrious  Adam,  'She  tempted  me  to  eat !'  r 

"No,  I  would  shield  her!  She  should  remain, 
even  though  the  judgment  pronounced  were  ban- 
ishment in  solitary  exile." 

SOLITARY  EXILE.  Alice  glanced  at  the  speaker 
swiftly. 

"Man  must  be  getting  better  and  woman  worse," 
there  was  the  least  trace  of  irony  in  the  voice. 
"There!  I  shall  talk  no  more." 

"Then  I  may  urge  you  to  sing,  perhaps,  the 
old  song — our  song — it  will  carry  us  back  to  the 
past." 

Without  replying,  she  rose  and  walked  to  the 
piano.  For  a  moment  her  white,  slender  fingers 
wandered  over  the  keys,  then  her  rich  contralto 
voice  filled  the  room.  Songs  of  the  great  masters 
followed  one  upon  another,  Edward  silently  turn- 
ing the  leaves  as  she  sang.  Alice  was  a  surprise 
to  him.  She  was  a  Jennie  Lind.  The  power 
25 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

her  voice  thrilled  him,  while  the  splendor  of  her 
face  fascinated  him.  In  the  midst  of  a  popular 
song,  the  hands  rested  and  the  voice  ceased.  Some 
sudden  impulse,  fancy,  caprice  took  possession  of 
the  singer.  Once  more  the  hands  glided  over  the 
keys.  It  was  Felix  Mendelssohn's  air  to  those 
words  of  Burns  that  immortalized  Jessie  Lewars. 
Once  more  the  lips  parted,  and  Alice  as  well  as 
Edward  was  carried  into  those  realms  of  self -for- 
getting song.  It  was  the  "old  song"  the  "our 
song"  sung  from  memory. 

Oh,  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast, 

On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea, 
My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt, 

I'd  shelter  thee,  I'd  shelter  thee ; 
Or  did  misfortune's  bitter  storms 

Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw, 
Thy  shield  should  be  my  bosom, 

To  share  it  a',  to  share  it  a'. 

Or  were   I   in   the  wildest   waste, 

Sae  black  and  bare,  sae  black  and  bare, 
The  desert  were  a  paradise 

If  thou  wert  there,  if  thou  wert  there ; 
Or  were  I  monarch  of  the  globe, 

Wi'  thee  to  reign,  wi'  thee  to  reign, 
The  brightest  jewel  in  my  crown 

Wad  be  my  queen,  wad  be  my  queen. 
26 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Edward  leaned  against  the  piano,  breathing 
with  difficulty,  his  white  face  getting  still  whiter 
as  she  sang,  while  his  eyes  burned  with  suppressed 
emotion — eyes  out  of  which  flashed  the  new  light 
of  an  impassioned,  soul.  He  was  cold,  yet  his 
blood  was  on  fire.  The  cruel  lasting  rapture  of  a 
deathless  passion  had  seized  and  possessed  him. 

With  the  last  word  of  the  song,  Alice  glanced 
upward  and  met  the  gaze  unsteadily.  She  always 
felt  as  she  sang;  she  could  not  sing  without  in- 
spiration, but  the  awakenings  had  been  different. 
There  was  a  light  in  his  face  that  burned  her.  For 
a  brief  moment  she  gazed,  with  the  rapture  of 
the  song  lingering  upon  her  senses,  mingling  with 
some  unknown  sensation.  She  started  to  her  feet 
with  a  shudder,  while  the  hand  dallying  softly  with 
the  keys  fell  upon  her  bosom  and  rested  there. 

"I  thank  you  for  the  music,"  Edward  said,  re- 
covering his  composure.  "Your  voice  was  always 
sweet,  but  I  did  not  imagine  ;t  held  such  marvelous 
power  and  volume." 

"Flattery  is  not  good  form." 

"I  was  speaking  of  one  of  the  changes  that  have 
taken  place  in  you." 

"Only  one !  Is  it  safe  to  inquire  of  the  others  ?" 
coquettishly. 

"You  have  grown  prodigiously  beautiful." 

"I  see  what  you  have  been  doing  at  college,"  she 
replied,  serenely. 

27 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Horace  and  Homer,"  he  declared. 

"Indeed,  no!  Paraphrasing  soft  speeches.  I 
have  heard  that  Yale  and  ale  both  go  to  the 
tongue  and  head." 

"It  is  a  monstrous  slander;  each  warms  the  af- 
fections. College  life  expands  the  heart,  and  the 
beverage  is  famed  for  its  amiability." 

"Say,  Edward,"  dexterously  toying  with  the 
tips  of  her  handkerchief. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Did  you  flirt  and  make  love  to  the  girls  while 
at  college?" 

"Did  I  flirt  and  make  love  to  the  girls  at  col- 
lege !"  he  repeated,  deliberately,  "Why,  Alice,  what 
a  question !  Could  I  have  in  honor  done  that " 

"Miss  Herbert  is  lovely,"  she  laughed. 

"Alice,  my  engagement — rather  our  engagement 
— was  always  sacred." 

"But  you  must  no  longer  be  bound  by  it.  Our 
parents  had  no  right  to  encumber  our  lives  with 
obligations  distasteful,  perhaps  repulsive." 

Edward  had  come  and  stood  so  near  her  that 
she  heard  his  heavy  breathing. 

"Surely,"  she  continued,  without  looking  up, 
"neither  you  nor  I  can  consider  their  arrangement 
binding  upon  ourselves.  I  give  you  back  your 
freedom.  Our  happiness " 

"Our  happiness,"  he  interrupted,  huskily. 

"Mine,  then,  requires  it." 
28 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

At  last  the  words  were  spoken.  Alice  had 
dreaded  their  utterance;  she  was  surprised  at  her 
own  calmness. 

"Your — happiness — requires — the  end — of  our 
— engagement?"  he  asked,  slowly,  in  such  a 
changed  voice  that  she  hardly  recognized  it.  "Are 
you  sure,  Alice,  quite — quite  sure — that  what  you 
say  is  true?  Alice,"  he  repeated  again,  "you  are 
sure  your  heart  and  happiness  ask  this  sacrifice  of 
me?" 

"Yes." 

"You  are  free!" 

She  should  never  forget  the  words,  nor  the 
voice,  nor  the  look.  Her  hands  shook  when  she 
passed  the  ring  back  to  its  giver. 

"Shall  I  tell  them — our  parents?"  he  asked 
steadily. 

"Must  they  know?" 

"Certainly,"  he  answered. 

"And  you  will  tell  them — you?"  She  had  ex- 
pected reproaches. 

"Yes,  it  is  better;  they  would  feel — they  would 
know "  he  paused,  abruptly. 

"Know  what?"  she  inquired. 

"The  secret  I  must  guard." 

"What  secret  to  guard?" 

"The  secret  of  my  love.     I  love  you." 

The  next  moment  she  was  alone.  She  went  to 
the  window  and  watched  him  walking  down  the 
29 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

marble  steps.  The  boy  darted  up  among  the 
shrubbery  and  joined  him,  but  there  was  no  greet- 
ing. Abashed,  the  boy  peered  into  his  face,  and 
glanced  uneasily  toward  the  house.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  was  irresolute,  then  stepping  boldly  for- 
ward, he  took  the  cold  hand  in  his  little  chubby 
ones,  and  walked  on  by  the  side  of  the  wretched 
man. 


30 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  III. 

"Good  morning,  Edward."  The  salutation  was 
spoken  by  Mr.  Richards,  who  had  stopped,  at  the 
entrance  of  the  bank,  upon  noticing  the  approach 
of  the  young  man. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Richards,"  returned  Ed- 
ward, "I  was  on  my  way  to  the  bank." 

"As  you  were  passing  by,  you  must  have  for- 
gotten its  location,"  laughed  the  man  of  finance. 

"I  must  plead  guilty  to  absent-mindedness," 
admitted  the  young  man,  retracing  his  steps.  "In 
fact,  I  am  greatly  alarmed;  both  father  and 
mother  are  ill." 

"What  appears  to  be  the  trouble?  Nothing 
serious,  I  trust." 

"I  wish  I  might  think  so.  The  physician 
seems  confident  of  breaking  up  the  fever;  but 
there  are  so  many  cases  of  typhoid  in  the  city." 

"You  do  not  mean  to  tell  me,"  exclaimed  the 
banker,  "that  your  parents  are  ill  of  fever?" 

"I  fear  as  much,"  replied  the  son,  in  an  un- 
steady voice. 

"Let  us  hope,"  replied  the  banker,  "that  your 
words  are  the  result  of  present  anxiety.  By  the 
way,"  continued  the  speaker,  "I  will  go  home  with 
31 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

you  directly,  if  you  can  wait  until  I  step  inside  a 
few  seconds." 

"I  come  to  have  a  private  interview  with  you," 
answered  the  young  man.  "Afterwards,  if  you 
are  able  to  get  away,  we  will  return  together.  I 
do  not  wish  to  be  absent  from  home  long." 

The  banker  invited  Edward  into  the  office,  and 
they  entered  the  building  together,  the  door  of  the 
president's  office  opening  and  closing  upon  them. 

"Now,  what  is  it,  my  boy?"  inquired  the  banker, 
kindly,  facing  about. 

"Miss  Richards  wishes  to  be  released  from  her 
engagement,"  said  Edward,  terribly  calm. 

"Come,  my  boy,  this  is  neither  the  time  nor 
the  subject  for  jesting,"  remarked  the  banker  se- 
verely. 

"Mr.  Richards,"  repeated  Edward,  "your 
daughter  has  asked  me  for  her  freedom  and  I 
have  granted  it." 

The  banker  was  dumbfounded. 

"May  I  inquire,  sir,  if  her  action  is  due  to  con- 
duct or  behavior  unbecoming  a  gentleman?" 
There  was  suppressed  anger,  verging  near  the 
danger  line  in  the  tone  of  the  inquiry. 

"Miss  Richards,"  replied  Edward,  "assigns  no 
other  reason  for  the  request  than  that  of  her  hap- 
piness. No  consideration  of  my  own  sentiments 
should  be  permitted  to  stand  in  the  way  of  that 
attainment.  I  trust  you  will  retract  any  refer- 
32 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ence  to  conduct  and  behavior  that  has  been  made." 
"I  beg  your  pardon — what  sudden  madness  is 
this?  My  daughter  shall  be  brought  to  her 
senses.  Why,  we  have  always,  from  the  time  you 
were  little  tots,  treated  the  alliance  as  settled. 
This  is  a  whim  in  which  you  ought  not  to  have 
humored  her — unless — perhaps — the  desire  to  be 
free  is  mutual,"  the  speaker  became  cautious  and 

guarded.     "In  such  case,  of  course " 

"Please  let  us  discuss  the  subject  no  further," 
said  Edward.  "I  know  Miss  Richards  would  wish 
me  to  inform  you  of  the  changed  relationship. 
Still,  in  my  judgment,  it  is  best  that  my  father 
and  mother  remain  in  ignorance  of  the  broken 
engagement.  They  are  wrapt  up  in  Alice,  and  I 
dread  the  consequences  of  the  discovery  in  their 
present  condition." 

"My  boy,"  declared  the  banker,  "if  you  want 
Alice  you  shall  have  her." 

"Want  her — want  her!"  breathed  Edward, 
drunk  with  temptation.  He  pressed  his  hand 
against  his  throbbing  temples,  the  cool  perspira- 
tion moistening  his  palm. 

"Yes,  she  is  yours !  No  child  of  mine  shall " 

"Stop!  We  are  meditating  a  crime  against 
your  daughter.  Once  for  all  I  would  counsel  her 
against  parental  authority — yea,  more,  I  would 
rescue  her  from  herself  sooner  than  see  her  going 
to  the  altar  without  the  consent  of  her  heart. 
33 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Unless  Alice  Richards  marries  the  man  she  loves," 
continued  Edward  solemnly,  "her  life  is  ruined — 
ruin  that  should  drive  me  mad,  if  I  were  the  un- 
happy man." 

"Edward,  my  boy,  I  never  half  appreciated 
your  character.  Alice  is  a  sensible  girl,  and,  per- 
haps, it  will  come  out  all  right  yet." 

The  father  and  mother  of  Edward  Reynolds 
died  believing  that  the  marriage  was  to  be  solem- 
nized between  their  son  and  the  daughter  of  the 
life-time  friends.  During  the  weeks  of  protracted 
illness  either  Mr.  Richards  or  his  wife  was  con- 
stantly at  the  home  of  the  afflicted  ones,  render- 
ing the  last  mortal  moments  of  the  sufferers  as 
comfortable  and  peaceful  as  love  and  affection  are 
ever  able  to  do. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  survived  her  husband  but  one 
week,  the  knowledge  of  his  death  being  withheld 
from  her  until  the  day  that  the  two  souls  were 
reunited  in  the  great  Unknown.  For  hours  pre- 
vious to  her  death  she  had  been  unconscious.  The 
physician  had  told  the  watchers  at  the  bedside  that 
the  dying  woman  would  probably  rally  just  be- 
fore dissolution.  Gathered  about  that  death-bed 
were  the  son,  Mrs.  Richards,  Alice  and  tke  house- 
keeper, waiting  for  the  end. 

At  last  the  eyes  opened,  and  upon  recognizing 
those  present  a  wan  smile  hovered  about  the  blood- 
less lips. 

34 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"How  is  your  father,  Edward?" 

Edward  knelt  by  the  bed  and  taking  the  wasted 
hand  lying  upon  the  coverlet  in  his,  kissed  the  thin 
lips  before  answering:  "Father  is  at  rest, 
Mother."  Mrs.  Reynolds  closed  her  eyes  wearily. 
After  several  moments  she  looked  up  again. 

"I  am  dying,  Edward,  my  darling  boy." 

"Yes,  Mother,  you  are  leaving  me."  The 
words  choked  him. 

"You  will  be  brave,  and  noble,  and  good,  all 
your  life,  Edward?" 

"Yes,  Mother." 

"And  true?" 

"And  true." 

"And  a  Christian?" 

"Yes,  with  God's  help,  a  Christian."  She 
reached  up  and  drew  his  head  down  upon  her 
bosom,  her  hand  moving  caressingly  over  the 
heavy  hair. 

"Good-bye,  Anna,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Richards, 
pressing  a  kiss  upon  the  marble  brow. 

"Good-bye,  Mary,"  responded  the  sick  woman, 
feebly.  And  two  women  that  had  loved  each  other 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes  for  the  last  time. 

"Where  is  Alice?"  asked  the  dying  mother. 

"I  am  here,"  coming  forward  from  a  place  near 
the  window,  where  she  had  taken  refuge,  her  eyes 
red  with  weeping. 

35 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Mrs.  Richards  took  the  hand  that  Alice  had 
placed  gently  upon  her  hair  and  held  it. 

"Children,"  the  lips  fluttered,  "you  must  be 
good  to  each  other.  *At  rest,'  "  she  repeated,  her 
mind  wandering.  "How  bright  the  room  is  get- 
ting! Where  is  my  boy? — let  me  see  your  face, 
Edward — bend  nearer — the  light  blinds  me — You 
will  always  love  and  cherish  Alice?" 

"Mother!     Mother!"  moaned  Edward  in  agony. 

"Speak  louder.  I  do  not  hear — always — love 
—her?" 

Edward  Reynolds  pressed  his  lips  to  his  moth- 
er's ear  and  whispered:  "I  shall  always  love 
Alice." 

"And— you— A-1-i-c-e  ? " 

The  lips  ceased  moving,  the  head  sank  deeper 
in  the  pillows ;  the  spirit  had  fled. 

Upon  those  cold  lips  was  still  lingering  an  un- 
finished question — unfinished  and  unanswered. 

Silently  they  moved  from  the  room,  leaving  the 
broken-hearted  son  alone  with  his  dead. 

An  hour  later  Alice  went  to  the  door  and,  open- 
ing it  slightly,  glanced  into  the  chamber  of  death. 
Edward  was  still  kneeling  by  the  bedside,  his  arms 
thrown  across  the  body  and  his  face  resting  upon 
the  heart  that  should  beat  no  more. 

What  should  she  do?  What  ought  she  to  do? 
She  recalled  with  a  shudder  the  last  words  of  the 
dead  and  silently  closed  the  door,  remaining  in  the 
36 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

hallway  with  a  white  hand  lying  upon  the  silver 
knob. 

In  there  the  friend,  companion,  playmate,  lover 
of  her  childhood  was  bowed  under  the  crushing  be- 
reavement of  a  mother's  death.  In  all  the  wide 
world  he  was  utterly  alone.  What  had  he  whis- 
pered in  his  dying  mother's  ear?  Something 
like  a  guilty  fear  was  stealing  into  the  girl's  heart. 
An  overmastering  impulse  was  gaining  upon  her 
resolution.  What  if  he  were  proud  and  cold  to 
the  world's  unfortunates,  he  had  loved  and  had 
worshipped  his  mother!  He  loved — the  blood 
was  tingling  in  her  veins.  There  in  the  room  be- 
yond the  playmate,  companion  and  lover  was 
stunned  and  bruised  by  the  blow  of  a  mother's 
loss,  while  she  was  standing  with  a  hand  trembling 
upon  the  knob  of  the  door  without — the  door  that 
would  yield  to  her  slightest  motion.  Suddenly 
she  remembered.  Memory!  flashing  through  her 
mind  like  a  bolt  from  heaven!  Within  the  last 
six  weeks  she  had  renounced  forever  the  privilege 
that  was  treasured  now.  Ay,  more ;  she  had  prom- 
ised to  give  her  life  into  the  keeping  of  another. 
She  felt  that  safety  lay  in  flight,  when  she  became 
conscious  of  another's  presence. 

"We  must  bring  him  away,"  said  the  house- 
keeper. "He  must  not  remain  in  the  room 
longer."  Then  the  servant  turned  and  confront- 
ed the  girl,  inquiring: 

37 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"You  are  Alice,  are  you  not — Alice  Richards?" 

"Yes,"  responded  Alice,  "but  I  would  be  any- 
body— anybody  else."  Scarcely  had  Alice  spo- 
ken, when  the  old  woman  caught  the  hands  of  the 
girl  and  covered  them  with  caresses. 

"Accept  my  love  and  blessing,"  she  said  bro- 
kenly. "I  have  never  known  a  want  since  that 
Christmas  night  when  he  came  and  found  me  and 
my  boy  perishing,  and  through  you " 

"Through  me — me?  I  know  not  the  meaning 
of  your  words." 

"Did  Edward  never  tell  you?" 

Alice  tottered  backward,  as  though  defending 
herself  against  a  threatened  blow. 

"It  was  my  son  and  the  boy  at  your  home  that 
took  the  chicken  to  give  me  life;  and  Edward,  the 
noblest,  truest,  tenderest,  came  late  that  Christmas 

night  and  delivered  us.  O  Miss  Richards " 

But  Alice  had  pushed  past  the  speaker  and  was 
fleeing  down  the  hall — away — away  from  the 
memory  and  the  horror  of  it  all.  At  last,  she 
understood  the  reason  of  the  boy's  affection  for 
Edward.  At  last !  at  last — but,  too  late ! 


38 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Llewellyn  Eldridge  was  forty-five  years  of  age 
when  he  met  Alice  Richards  and  fell  desperately 
in  love  with  her;  a  thing  which  a  much  younger 
man,  or,  for  that  matter,  a  much  older  one  might 
have  done  without  exciting  any  great  wonderment. 

Banker  Richards  had  known  Eldridge  during 
a  period  of  ten  years  in  a  business  way.  It 
chanced,  upon  one  of  these  visits  of  the  latter  at 
the  bank,  that  the  meeting  took  place  between 
Alice  and  Llewellyn.  Miss  Richards  had  called, 
as  was  her  wont,  at  the  well-known  banking  estab- 
lishment to  see  her  indulgent  parent  a  moment 
upon  some  charitable  mission,  interrupting  a  mo- 
mentous business  interview  between  her  father  and 
a  fine-looking,  well-dressed  stranger.  Mr.  Rich- 
ards found  himself  in  that  uncomfortable  dilemma 
of  either  being  rude  to  a  valuable  patron  or, 
waiving  conventionality,  of  presenting  his  daugh- 
ter. 

Alice  Richards  did  not  fail  to  notice  the  strong, 
resolute  face  and  stalwart  figure  of  her  father's 
client;  yet,  she  would  have  been  the  most  aston- 
ished lady  in  the  City  of  Brotherly  Love  had  she 
been  told,  then  and  there,  that  within  the  next 
39 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

three  months  she  was  to  be  led  to  the  altar  by  the 
gentleman  bowing  in  acknowledgment  of  the  in- 
troduction. 

Llewellyn  Eldridge  had  been  left  a  couple  of 
thousand  dollars  as  his  portion  of  his  father's  es- 
tate. This  money  came  to  him  just  as  he  was 
entering  his  twenty-second  year.  Young  Llewel- 
lyn had  never  taken  to  agriculture  in  a  way  to 
rejoice  his  bucolic  sire.  In  fact,  the  young  man 
had  shown  so  little  promise  of  fulfilling  his  indus- 
trious parent's  expectations  on  the  farm  "that  he 
had  been  sent  to  college,  in  order,  as  it  was  re- 
garded, to  do  the  next  best  thing  for  the  lad. 

However,  arriving  at  majority,  and  finding  him- 
self counting  his  share  of  an  estate  which  he  had 
contributed  so  little  to  create,  he  had  some  idea  of 
the  world  in  general,  and  a  valuable  knowledge  of 
many  things  in  particular. 

Before  one  month  had  elapsed  after  coming  into 
possession  of  his  $2,000  legacy,  he  had  pur- 
chased a  small  tract  of  timber  land,  some  miles 
above  Lock  Haven,  on  the  banks  of  Sinnemahon- 
ing  River,  and  had  a  saw-mill  in  course  of  erec- 
tion; within  two  years  he  was  worth  $10,000; 
twenty  years  later  he  was  a  millionaire. 

He  was  at  Philadelphia  to  consummate  a  deal 
prodigious  as  compared  with  any  previous  project 
undertaken  by  this  rising  financier.  He  was  com- 
pelled to  admit  someone  into  his  confidence;  it 
40 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

was  Banker  Richards.  They  looked  the  matter 
over  together;  consultations  followed  at  the  bank, 
and  at  the  residence.  He  met  Miss  Alice  fre- 
quently. Sometimes  there  were  conferences  which 
the  banker  did  not  attend.  These  latter  became 
more  frequent  and  of  longer  duration.  In  short, 
it  is  a  debatable  question  whether  or  no  that  "deal" 
at  the  banker's  office  was  not  suffering  somewhat  in 
consequence. 

Tho'  Llewellyn  Eldridge  had  been  a  successful 
business  man,  and  had  rubbed  elbows  with  the 
shrewdest  speculative  talent  of  the  lumbering  cen- 
ters, without  getting  the  worst  of  the  encounter, 
he  had  never  had  much  experience  with  the  fair 
sex;  but,  if  one  were  to  judge  by  appearances  at 
the  residence  of  Banker  Richards,  a  most  favor- 
able opinion  should  have  been  passed  upon  his 
ability  in  the  new  field  of  adventure. 

"A  box  of  gloves,  of  Parisian  make,  just  from 
France !"  True  enough,  a  woman  of  less  indif- 
ference to  such  feminine,  but  useful,  ornaments 
than  Alice  Richards  would  have  exclaimed  in  more 
extravagant  rhapsodies  over  the  perfect  and  ex- 
quisite package  of  the  very  latest  cuts,  just  ar- 
rived from  that  maternal  source  of  fashionable 
novelties — Paris — and  now  placed  in  her  hands  by 
Llewellyn  Eldridge,  returning  from  a  day's  run 
to  New  York.  Llewellyn  had  three  sisters,  and  he 
blessed  them  a  thousand  times  for  each  and  every 
41 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

pair  of  gloves  he  had  lavished  upon  them,  sever- 
ally and  collectively,  upon  seeing  the  grateful  look 
in  Alice's  deep  and  lustrous  eyes. 

"I  wanted  to  bring  you  some  memento  of  my 
visit  to  the  city,  Alice,"  a  little  dubious  over  the 
lack  of  formality  in  omitting  the  conventional 
"Miss  Richards,"  at  the  same  time  forgetting  to 
mention  that  he  had  worked  a  full  half  day  with 
Una,  his  youngest  and  most  frivolous  sister,  in  a 
roundabout  way,  to  find  out  what  present  a  gentle- 
man could  make  a  lady,  that  would  be,  in  all  like- 
lihood, the  most  acceptable. 

"I  fear  you  will  think  me  vain,"  injecting  the 
tips  of  her  fingers  into  the  left  one.  Did  you 
ever  notice  that  a  woman  invariably  puts  a  glove 
on  the  left  hand  first,  and  a  shoe  on  the  left  foot? 

"And  my  size,  too,"  coloring  profusely  at  a 
not  unwelcome  familiarity,  associated  as  the 
thought  was  with  previous  close  observation,  with 
which  he  must  have  scrutinized  those  same  fragile 
digits  that  were  to  be  protected  by  his  thoughtful- 
ness. 

Bold  resolves  were  executed  with  dispatch  by 
this  man.  It  was  the  habit  of  his  life. 

"What  beautiful  hands !"  appropriating  them 
in  his,  firmly,  in  a  manner  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  an  habitue  of  a  fashionable  summer 
resort. 

"No,  Alice,  do  not  remove  them."  There  was  a 
42 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

strange  quaver  in  his  voice.  "I  love  you,  Alice; 
be  my  wife."  The  usually  white  face  was  even 
gray  in  its  colorlessness. 

"Darling,  I  shall  make  up  for  the  discrepancy 
in  our  years  with  the  deepest  and  truest  love.  Oh, 
how  men  stumble!  To  be  reputed  rich,  to  have 
the  world  acknowledge  in  me  the  genius  of  the 
financier  has  been  the  absorbing  motive  of  my  ex- 
istence. A  home  and  thy  sweet  companionship 
will  go  far  towards  compensating  for  years  squan- 
dered in  the  pursuit  of  wealth." 

The  hands  still  remained  in  his,  and  a  moment 
later  he  drew  an  unresisting  head  to  his  breast, 
while  the  face,  peeping  from  masses  of  golden 
hair,  was  very  suggestive  of  unalloyed  happiness. 

That  afternoon  two  gentlemen  were  closeted  in 
the  most  private  of  all  private  compartments  of 
the  great  banking  institution  of  Philadelphia. 
The  elder  gentleman  had  just  shaken  the  younger 
one  by  the  hand  most  cordially. 

"A  fine  day,  Mr.  Richards." 

"Indeed  it  is,"  assented  the  banker,  affably. 

"I  have  something  very  near  my  heart  about 
which  I  wish  to  consult  you." 

"Yes,  I  understand;  here  are  the  reports  of  the 
surveyors  and  timber  experts,"  indicating  a  stack 
of  memorized  sheets  lying  upon  the  table,  which 
had  but  at  that  moment  been  receiving  the  earnest 
inspection  of  the  speaker. 
43 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"But,  Mr.  Richards,  you  do  not  quite  compre- 
hend me." 

"No?" 

"I  am  about  to  ask  a  great  personal  sacri- 
fice  " 

"I  have  every  confidence  in  the  gentlemen  fur- 
nishing the  reports,  and  shall  be  only  too  glad  to 
accommodate " 

"But,  Mr.  Richards " 

"I  never  felt  so  satisfied  with  a  project,  and 
should  like  nothing  better  than  sharing  in  the  en- 
terprise ;  you  will  clear  a  cool  million ;  you'll " 

"Mr.  Richards." 

"Well?" 

"If  I  should  ask  a  great  favor " 

"$1,000,  or  a  hundred  of  them " 

'It  is  not  a  matter  of  money,"  helplessly. 

"NOT  A  MATTER  OF  MONEY?"  The  banker 
shifted  in  his  chair,  preparatory  to  sizing  his  visi- 
tor up  in  a  new  light. 

"It  is  much  nearer  than  dollars  and  cents,"  con- 
tinued the  younger  man  in  a  conciliatory,  yet  nerv- 
ous, tone,  noticing  the  look  of  alarm,  or  rather 
suspicion,  in  the  other's  eyes. 

"I  shall  respect  your  confidence,"  commenced 
the  banker,  clearing  his  throat,  feeling  that  he 
was  being  surprised  out  of  his  domain  of  finance, 
"and  trust  you  will  do  me  the  honor  of  making 
your  wishes  known  with  perfect  frankness,  assur- 
44 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ing  you  by  our  many  years  of  BUSINESS  as- 
sociation, that,  if  it  lies  within  my  power  to  aid  or 
advise,  you  may  rely  upon  my  assistance  and  coun- 
sel." The  banker  was  not  a  man  of  sentiment  at 
the  bank,  and  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  disas- 
sociate "business"  from  any  transaction. 

"Thank  you.  In  fact,  you  are  the  only  person 
in  position  to  help  me  in  this  affair;  that  is " 

"Not  dollars  and  cents,"  ruminated  the  banker, 
respectfully  waiting  for  the  other  to  proceed. 

"I  want  a  wife." 

The  banker  felt  relieved. 

"A  wife !  Why,  bless  your  soul,  a  man  of  your 
age  and  in  your  position,"  deliberately  pursued 
the  noted  financier,  "can  marry  easily  enough. 
There  is  not  a  lady  in  the  city,  of  any  sense,  who 
would  reject  such  a  proposal."  He  felt  well  upon 
delivering  the  compliment. 

"I  love  your  daughter." 

"The  devil!" 

"I  trust  his  majesty  has  not  been  consulted  in 
the  matter,"  thought  Eldridge,  nettled  at  the  vehe- 
mence of  the  banker. 

"And  she— Alice " 

"Loves  me." 

"THE  DEVIL  !" 

The  man  of  finance  collapsed,  colored  apoplec- 
tically,  rose  from  his  chair,  walked  to  the  side  of 
the  table,  where  the  younger  man  was  standing, 
45 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

and,  laying  his  hand  on  his  arm,  led  him  to  the 
door.  "Go  tell  Alice  she  has  pleased  her  father." 

Eldridge's  heart  was  too  full  for  utterance,  but, 
in  parting,  he  wrenched  the  banker's  hand  in  a 
way  that  threatened  the  safety  of  that  member. 

The  door  was  scarcely  closed  before  the  clerk 
projected  his  head  in  the  room. 

"Sam  Jones  wants  $1,000  for  thirty  days." 

"Let  him  have  it." 

"What?"  said  the  messenger,  personally  know- 
ing the  insolvency  of  Jones. 

"Let  him  have  it."  The  boy  disappeared,  but 
was  back  in  a  moment. 

"Jasper  Clark's  note  of  $3,000  is  offered  for 
discount." 

"Discount  it."     The  boy  departed. 

"That  man  Eldridge  is  a  man  of  proper  and 
superior  judgment." 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  V. 

"Mother,"  quizzed  Banker  Richards,  the  morn- 
ing paper  lying  unnoticed  on  the  table  at  his 
finger-tips,  "what  is  the  matter  with  Alice?" 

"Really,  I  do  not  know.  I  am  troubled  about 
the  child,"  she  admitted  after  a  brief  pause. 

"The  world  is  coming  to  a  pretty  pass,"  de- 
clared Mr.  Richards,  "if  we  send  our  daughters 
away  to  female  seminaries  that  they  may  be  in- 
structed in  the  arts  and  accomplishments  of  sham- 
ming." 

"Alice  is  not  deceitful,"  the  motherly  instinct 
aroused  in  defense  of  her  child. 

"The  proper  name  is  shamming,  that's  what  it 
is.  If  she  thinks  she  can  pull  the  wool  over  my 
eyes,  she's  mistaken  most  mightily.  This  bub- 
bling over  with  joy  before  our  faces  and  white 
and  scared  when  our  backs  are  turned  is  conceal- 
ment— shamming.  I  don't  see  any  sense  in  being 
happy  and  laughing  unless  one  feels  happy  and 
like  laughing,"  he  concluded,  sententiously. 

"Are  you  sure  it  is  not  our  imagination?"  in- 
quired his  wife,  giving  the  culprit  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt. 

"Well,  I  tell  you  imagination  is  one  thing,  see- 
47 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ing  a  thing,  another.  Last  evening,  for  instance, 
Alice  and  I  were  sitting  on  the  veranda,  when  our 
youngster  and  that  boy  over  at  Reynolds'  bobbed 
up  mysteriously  from  somewhere  and  flung  them- 
selves upon  the  grass  under  the  edge  of  the  porch. 

"  'Yep,  he  is  going,  for  a  sure  thing,'  said  the 
boy  belonging  over  yonder,  unaware  of  our  pres- 
ence, 'and  he  is  taking  a  sight  of  stuff  with  him, 
trunk  after  trunk ;  just  as  if  he  was  going  to  stay 
the  balance  of  his  natural  life.' 

"  'Where  is  he  migrating  to  ?'  put  in  our  young- 
ster. 

"  'Ingea.' 

"  'What  makes  him  go?' 

"  'Because,  probable,  it's  lonesome  since  his  fa- 
ther and  mother  died.' 

"  'I  bet  it  hain't  that,'  hazarded  our  young  imp, 
with  the  gusto  of  a  born  skeptic. 

"  'I  guess  I  know,'  replied  the  visiting  boy, 
bristling  up. 

"  'Didn't  you  never  hear  anything?'  says  our 
hopeful,  confidentially. 

"  'Well,  I  guess !  Mother  is  always  telling  me, 
"little  pitchers  has  big  ears."  Why,  they  say,  he 
is  rich  as  Crokus,  or  Crowecus,  or  something  like 
that.  The  estate  is  all  settled,  and  he  has  worked 
day  and  night,  and  we  are  going  to  stay  there 
right  along  just  the  same.' 

"  'Is  that  all?'  asked  our  lad,  with  a  post-grad- 
48 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

uate  air  of  disdain  for  the  ABC  knowledge  of 
his  companion.  Then,  quick  as  flash,  he  contin- 
ued: 'I  don't  suppose  you  ever  heard  that  Ed- 
ward and  Alice  used  to  be  sweethearts — and  down- 
right spoony,  too?' 

"  'Watch  them  scatter,'  whispered  Alice  to  me, 
and,  tiptoeing  to  the  railing,  she  doused  the  water 
of  a  half -filled  vase  upon  their  gossiping  heads. 
As  by  magic  they  disappeared  around  the  corner 
of  the  house.  Then  Alice  came  back  to  my  side, 
her  eyes  shining  like  two  stars,  and  pressing  her 
cold,  laughing  lips  to  my  cheek,  said:  'I  never 
was  spoony,  was  I,  papa,  dear?' 

"  'Spoony  is  capital,'  I  agreed.  'Spooniest  of 
the  spoony.' 

"  'Do  good  for  evil,'  she  smiled.  'I  shall  bring 
you  a  bouquet,'  and  she  tripped  away,  humming 
some  love-tune." 

"Surely,"  remarked  Mrs.  Richards,  who  had 
paid  the  closest  attention  to  her  husband's  recital, 
"our  fears  are  without  foundation." 

"I  thought  so,  too,"  added  the  banker.  "But, 
as  Alice  did  not  return,  I  went  to  the  conserva- 
tory to  see  what  had  become  of  her.  I  found  her 
crouched  upon  the  ground  in  a  corner,  half-buried 
beneath  palm  leaves,  her  arms  thrown  over  a 
bench  and  her  white  face  resting  upon  those  bare 
arms.  I  watched  her  as  long  as  I  could  bear  be- 
fore speaking.  At  the  sound  of  my  voice  she 
49 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

sprang  to  her  feet,  and  in  an  instant  was  at  my 
side  trembling  and  laughing." 

"What  did  she  say,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Richards. 
"Did  she  offer  no  explanation?" 

"Explain  nothing !"  declared  the  banker.  "  'Did 
you  "find  me  snoozing  ?'  she  asked,  pulling  me  away 
to  a  rose  bush  flush  with  bloom.  'Are  they  not 
lovely?  See,  this  one  I  shall  give  you,'  breaking  off 
the  rose  and  securing  it  to  the  lapel  of  my  coat." 

"Does  Alice  feel  that  she  is  making  a  mistake, 
do  you  think?"  inquired  Mrs.  Richards,  anxiously. 

"She  is  making  a  mistake,"  declared  the  banker. 
"I  do  not  approve  the  way  she  has  broken  off 
her  engagement  with  Edward.  Why,  I  never 
broke  a  promise  in  my  entire  life." 

"Like  father,  like  daughter,"  sighed  Mrs.  Rich- 
ards. 

"Not  in  the  way  of  fulfilling  engagements,"  de- 
clared the  banker. 

"Yes,  even  so,"  asserted  Mrs.  Richards.  "The 
engagement  between  Alice  and  Edward,  was  a  bar- 
gain made  by  the  parents  of  the  children;  the  one 
made  between  Alice  and  Mr.  Eldridge  is  made  by 
them,  and  the  father  of  our  darling  child  never, 
in  all  his  life,  kept  a  promise  more  sacredly,  more 
religiously,  than  that  child  will  keep  hers." 

"If  she  does  not  love  Eldridge,"  said  the  bank- 
er resolutely,  "much  as  I  like  the  fellow,  I  would 
send  him  back  to  the  pine  woods." 
50 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Hush !  I  hear  Alice  coming,"  and  the  next  mo- 
ment the  subject  of  the  parents'  uneasiness  danced 
into  the  room,  the  very  embodiment  of  youth,  con- 
tentment, happiness. 

"I  have  a  surprise,  papa." 

"A  discovery  of  a  new  beggar,  I  will  wager." 

"Guess  again." 

"Well,  Llewellyn  has  been  writing  silly  let- 
ters." 

"Oh,  papa,  you  say  that  because  you  want  me 
to  run  away." 

"I  shall  win  medals  sometime  for  cleverness  in 
guessing  answers  to  conundrums." 

"Not  unless  you  improve  prodigiously.  Come, 
sir,  you  have  another  chance." 

"Hasn't  Eldridge  been  writing  nonsense?" 
watching  her  closely. 

"Please,  papa,  don't  be  horrid.  What  do  you 
think  I  am  going  to  show  you?  Something  glo- 
rious! I  have  it  here,"  revealing  a  hand  holding 
a  letter,  which  was  passed  rapidly  before  her  fa- 
ther's eyes  and  returning  in  temporary  hiding  be- 
hind her. 

"Give  me  time." 

"How  long?  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six," 
and  she  went  on  counting  up  to  twenty. 

"Will  it  keep?" 

"What  keep?" 

"The  surprise." 

51 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"I  know  what  I  shall  do,  and  there  is  a  dear  old 
papa  that  won't  be  the  wiser." 

"Will  you  tell  Eldr "  Here  the  hand  at 

liberty  was  placed  over  the  offending  lips,  only  to 
be  released  upon  the  head  of  the  gentleman  nod- 
ding assent  to  the  interrogation,  "Will  you  be 
good?" 

"There,  I  have  mussed  your  hair  to  pay  for 
your  impertinence.  Besides,"  she  added,  "I  am 
going  to  make  you  sorry  because  of  your 
bad  behavior,"  whereupon  the  dainty  and  per- 
fumed pages  of  a  letter  were  spread  before  her 
father's  eyes,  which  he  read  eagerly,  Alice  watch- 
ing his  face  closely  as  he  proceeded: 

"PARIS,  FRANCE. 
"May  19,  1850. 

"Dearest  Alice: — Your  ever  welcome  letter 
received,  and  contents — well,  for  want  of  a  better 
word — devoured.  Your  engagement  takes  my 
breath  away.  Just  as  I  had  abandoned  hope  of 
such  a  happy  contingency,  that  is,  putting  on 
'The  chains  that  bind,'  I  receive  the  glad  tidings 
I  had  given  up  anticipating.  I  know  he  must  be 
nice,  or  you  would  never  love  and  marry  him. 

"You  know  that  I  shall  come.     It  is  three  long 

years  since  I  have  seen  you.     Alice,  wilful  but 

steadfast,  did  two  girls  ever  love  each  other  more? 

The  Count,  bless  his  heart,  says  you  are  the  only 

52 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

one  of  whom  he  is  really  ever  jealous.  The  Count 
is  coming,  too,  and  Leonard.  Leo,  that  is  Leon- 
ard, is  two  in  August.  Oh,  what  a  boy  he  is! 
Robust  and  mischievous!  Both  nurse  and  myself 
are  tired  out  when  night  comes,  he  is  such  a  happy 
care.  How  we  love  our  children!  But  dear  me, 
I  am  writing  of  my  affairs,  when  I  am  thinking  of 
yours.  I  know  I  shall  like  your  affianced  husband, 
from  your  description,  however  modest.  When  a 
man  of  his  years — no  offense — falls  in  love,  it  is 
'for  keeps,'  as  my  brothers  used  to  say  when  play- 
ing marbles.  You  must  visit  France  on  your 
honeymoon.  There  is  no  lovelier  spot  under  the 
sun.  Dear  old  France,  with  her  romance  and  her 
history.  There  is  a  warm  place  in  my  heart  for 
my  native  America,  but  I  am  so  happy,  darling, 
here  with  my  husband  and  Leo,  I  could  never  think 
of  going  back  to  stay.  Sometimes  I  get  the  least 
tiny  bit  lonesome,  and  then  I  think,  if  you  could 
come  and  live  here,  too,  how  nice  it  would  be.  You 
always  said  I  was  selfish;  but,  I  suppose,  it  is  out 
of  the  question — that  is,  your  living  here.  Any- 
way, the  Count  says  he  is  going  to  hold  a  certain 
husband  and  wife  prisoners  when  they  visit  France 
until  two  beautiful  women  quarrel,  and  then  he 
can  have  me  all  to  himself. 

"Your  marriage  is  so  near  we  are  making  prep- 
arations to  start  at  once.  I  cannot  tell  you,  dear- 
est friend,  of  the  joy  with  which  I  am  looking  for- 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ward,  after  so  many  years  of  separation,  to  our 
reunion.     We  were  all  in  all  to  each  other  during 
those  years  of  intimacy.     Dear  me !     Do  you  re- 
member what  silly  and  sensible  girls  we  were,  too? 
But  we  will  go  over  those  reminiscences  together. 
"Give  my  love  to  your  father  and  mother.     The 
Count  sends  regards  to  all.    Oh,  I  hope  you  will  be 
so  happy,  happy,  dear  Alice,  in  the  life  before  you. 
"Your  loving  Eleanore, 

"Countess  Ratcliff." 

"Isn't  it  splendid  of  them  to  come?"  queried 
Alice. 

"I  am  glad  for  my  little  girl's  sake.    Just  think, 
Nobility  at  my  daughter's  wedding!" 

"Papa,  you  know  I  don't  care  for  titles  any 
more  than  you  do." 

"Kiss  me  and  we'll  make  up.  There,  Eleanore 
is  a  sweet,  brimming-full-of-sense  little  woman, 
and  her  presence  at  my  Alice's  wedding  is  a  source 
of  gratification,  inasmuch,  alone,  as  she  is  my 
daughter's  intimate  friend,  and  for  many  years 
her  companion.  I  will  go  even  farther,  I  shall 
bury  all  resentment  for  those  many  sleepless 
nights,  of  which  I  still  cherish  painful  recollec- 
tions, because  of  two  tittering  girls  in  a  distant 
section  of  the  house,  talking  confidences  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  four  blocks  away,  when  they 
should  have  been  hours  asleep." 
54. 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Mercy,  papa,  you  are  most  ungracious." 

"So  you  are  glad  to  leave  me,  eh?" 

"No,  no,  not  that;  but " 

"Yes,  I  know  those  'buts.'  This  is  what  a  man 
gets  for  walking  the  floor  of  nights,  of  rousing 
up  at  two  in  the  morning  with  the  mercury  twenty 
below  zero  and  going  a  mile  for  a  doctor,  be- 
cause 'baby'  has  the  colic.  This  is  our  reward!" 
concluding  in  mock  resignation. 

"We  are  going  to  live  here  except  summers, 
when  you  and  mamma  are  to  stay  with  us,  and 
Llewellyn  says  it  is  the  delight  of  sportsmen  to 
fish  in  those  streams;  besides,  you  have  worked 
enough,  and  Llewellyn  says  we  shall  all  pull 
stakes  and  travel." 

"  'And  Llewellyn  says,' "  groaned  the  father, 
while  any  further  remark  was  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  a  middle-aged  lady.  Mrs.  Richards 
was  essentially  a  home  body,  still  retaining  her 
youthful  buoyancy  of  spirits  and  comeliness. 
Years  ago  she  had  brought  her  young  husband 
the  nucleus  of  his  present  fortune.  She  had 
watched  his  success  with  all  the  pride  of  an  affec- 
tionate, if  not  ambitious,  woman.  Once  she  had 
checked  the  impulse  to  gratify  the  passion  for 
beautiful  and  costly  things.  They  could  not  af- 
ford them.  The  time  came,  however,  when  she 
could  and  did  indulge  inclinations  to  the  utmost. 
It  was  for  Alice's  sake.  God  had  given  them  but 
55 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

one  child,  and  she  had  had  a  home  surrounded  with 
every  refinement  that  lies  at  the  command  of 
wealth. 

"What  do  you  think,  mother,  Alice  is  bound  we 
shall  pull  stakes  and  vamoose." 

"That  is,  travel,  mamma,"  interrupted  the 
daughter. 

"It  would  be  pleasant  to  go  abroad  for  a  year 
or  two,"  assented  the  elder  lady  in  a  calm,  matter- 
of-fact  way. 

"Get  my  hat  and  coat,  you  young  siren,  while 
I  beat  a  retreat  from  these  arch  conspirators. 
Mind,  another  word  about  this  proposed  hegira 
and  I'll  tell  Eldridge  all  about  Reynolds,"  he  ad- 
monished, fixing  his  eyes  once  more  searchingly 
upon  her  face. 

"Ha,  ha!  forestalled  again!"  cried  Alice  at  the 
disappearing  husband  and  father. 

This  man  had  a  dual  life:  one — clear,  incisive, 
frigid,  at  the  bank;  the  other — lovable,  paternal, 
domestic,  at  home.  Both  institutions  were  sacred; 
hence,  perhaps,  the  double  existence. 

"How  jolly  papa  is!"  exclaimed  Alice. 

"He  is  very  fond  of  Mr.  Eldridge.  He  believes 
in  his  business  ability.  Mr.  Eldridge  is  a  person 
of  excellent  character  and  business  integrity,  be- 
sides possessing  great  personal  attraction.  Your 
father  does  not  doubt  his  daughter's  future  hap- 
piness. Among  the  men  of  the  world,  my  child," 
56 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

continued  the  mother,  "your  parents  could  not 
have  found  a  son-in-law  in  whom  they  will  take 
greater  pleasure."  As  the  woman  spoke,  the  arm 
of  the  girl  stole  around  the  speaker's  waist,  while 
with  the  disengaged  hand,  she  pushed  the  heavy 
tresses  of  hair  back  from  the  mother's  forehead, 
affectionately.  How  perfectly  they  understood 
each  other. 

"Mamma,  I  am — happy;  sometimes  when  I  lie 
awake  in  bed,  it  seems  almost  wicked  that  God 
should  be  so  good  to  me,  when  so  many 
others " 

"Hush,  child!  In  the  abstract  of  happiness, 
we  attach  too  much  importance  to  conditions 
of  wealth  and  position.  A  woman's  kingdom  is 
the  kingdom  of  love.  Sometimes  I  have  thought 
I  would  have  been  happier  if  we  had  been  less  fa- 
vored with  this  world's  goods;  a  man  is  more  de- 
pendent upon  his  wife's  love  in  humble  circum- 
stances. There  are  so  many  ways  she  can  lift  him 
from  despondency  that  he  learns  to  rest  upon  her 
love  for  confidence  and  strength.  She  misses  the 
sweet  privilege  as  one  of  the  penalties  of  great 
prosperity.  A  woman's  heart  is  a  strange  anom- 
aly; it  must  be  tasked  in  order  to  expand. 
Woman  is  the  smaller  vessel  but  the  stronger. 
She  survives  when  man  perishes ;  she  will  build  a 
temple  of  sunshine  of  the  broken  fragments  of 
man's  crushed  hopes — tut,  tut,  what  am  I  talking? 
57 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Run  away  to  the  piano,  while  I  read  Eleanore's 
letter." 

The  girl  moved  towards  a  rosewood  piano.  In 
passing  she  paused  a  moment  at  the  window,  which 
looked  out  upon  the  wealthy  section  of  the  city, 
and  drew  back  the  heavy  lace  curtains  to  admit 
more  light.  As  she  did  so  she  noticed  an  open 
carriage  passing  the  house.  The  sole  occupant 
glanced  up  in  the  direction  of  the  window;  their 
eyes  met.  The  man  lowered  his  head  and  urged 
the  horse  to  greater  speed. 

"Mamma,  come  here,  quick!" 

"What  is  it,  Alice?" 

"That  is  Edward — Mr.  Reynolds,"  pointing  at 
the  disappearing  carriage. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Richards. 

"He  looked  this  way,  and  I  thought "  she 

paused. 

"You  thought,"  repeated  Mrs.  Reynolds. 

"Oh,  I  thought  his  face  was  white  and — and 
full  of  pain." 

The  face  haunted  her.  That  time  had  come  in 
her  life  when  she  fully  realized  that  an  impass- 
able gulf  had  been  dug  by  the  silent  workmen  that 
shape  the  destinies  of  human  lives ;  and  on  the  far- 
ther shore  she  saw  the  man,  whom  she  had  re- 
garded many  years  as  her  future  husband,  whom 
she  had  liked  if  not  loved  in  those  olden  days, 
vivid  and  real,  reaching  his  strong  arms  toward 
58 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

her.  And  then  a  fog,  so  dense  and  thick  no  eye 
could  penetrate,  arose  in  smothering  vapors  from 
the  unseen  depths  of  that  gulf,  enveloping  the 
entreating  form  in  mist. 

The  pain  in  the  face  troubled  her,  and  a  fear, 
chilling  her,  numbing  her,  crept  stealthily  over  her 
heart,  like  unto  the  sound  of  cold  clods  dropping 
upon  the  lid  in  a  new-made  grave,  where  some 
loved  one  has  been  given  back  to  Earth. 

Alice  Richards,  thou  art  renouncing,  unawares, 
those  priceless  treasures,  whose  value  in  after  years 
shall  seem  unto  thee  greater  than  the  gems  of  the 
Orient. 

One  false  step  has  placed  thy  tender  feet  upon 
the  edge  of  a  mighty  precipice.  Thou  knowest 
not  thine  own  heart. 


59 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  reader  will  follow  the  sole  occupant  of  the 
carriage  that  was  seen  passing  the  residence  of 
Banker  Richards.  We  shall  go  with  him  to  the 
house  occupied  by  a  Presbyterian  minister,  who 
had  some  two  years  before  cast  his  fortune  in  the 
City  of  Brotherly  Love.  This  young  divine  had 
risen  rapidly  into  popularity  and  in  the  affection 
of  his  flock.  In  his  ministerial  capacity  it  had  been 
his  duty  to  officiate  at  the  funerals  of  both  parents 
of  Edward  Reynolds.  Throwing  the  reins  over  the 
post,  the  young  man  sprang  to  the  walk  and  as- 
cended the  steps  in  a  way  disclosing  superfluity  of 
strength  and  vitality.  Though,  perhaps,  hurt  as 
deeply  as  it  is  the  lot  of  man  to  be  in  being  denied 
what  the  heart  covets  most,  his  face  reveals  none 
of  the  anguish  to  the  clerical  gentleman  answer- 
ing the  ring  of  the  door-bell  in  person.  As  yet, 
this  young  co-worker  in  the  vineyard  of  his  Mas- 
ter keeps  no  servants. 

"Come  right  in,  Mr.  Reynolds."  The  minister 
was  affability  itself.  "Let  me  take  your  hat,"  se- 
curing the  article  mentioned  in  a  way  that  implied 
with  or  without  the  consent  of  the  owner.  "Oh! 
60 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

the  horse  is  all  right;  still,  maybe  I  had  better 
throw  a  blanket  over  him — back  in  a  moment." 

Out  in  the  street  went  the  clerical  gentleman, 
bare-headed,  looking  after  the  comfort  of  the  ani- 
mal, his  ministerial  robes  by  no  means  soiled  by 
this  action.  Young  Reynolds  had  protested  at 
the  proceedings,  which  had  all  been  done  so  sud- 
denly and  unexpectedly  that  the  reverend  gentle- 
man was  running  up  the  steps  before  his  purpose 
had  been  fully  comprehended  by  the  visitor. 

"Always  have  to  take  care  of  my  guests,  don't 
you  know?  You  came  around  the  corner  under 
considerable  speed — horse  sweating — take  cold — 
spoiled." 

"Mr.  St.  Clair,  I  regret  to  have  caused  you  this 
inconvenience.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  feel  repri- 
manded. I  am  not  usually  so  thoughtless." 

"No  occasion  for  self-recrimination.  I  love  the 
horse.  Next  to  man,  the  horse  enjoys  intelligence, 
but  horridly  misunderstood.  Yes,  sir,  the  horse  is 
gifted,  and  cultivating  his  acquaintance  is  a  hobby 
I  mean  to  indulge." 

The  by  no  means  lucrative  income  of  the  clergy- 
man had  barely  sufficed  for  the  more  pressing 
needs  of  the  household.  Still,  the  cheerful  dispo- 
sition of  the  minister  was  able  to  see  in  the  future 
a  generous  supply  of  such  powerful  auxiliaries  to 
our  happiness,  and,  upon  the  theory  that  there 
is  more  pleasure  in  anticipation  than  participation, 
61 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

the  man  of  gospel  was  receiving  his  full  share  of 
enjoyment. 

"You  keep  no  horse,  I  believe?"  inquired  the 
visitor. 

"No,  sir,  not  just  at  present.  Fact  is,  my  ac- 
commodations are  so  cramped  I  have  to  forego 
the  pleasure."  No  one  would  have  suspected  that 
the  minister  deprived  himself  of  equine  enjoyment 
for  other  reason  than  the  one  indicated. 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  present  to  you  the  horse 
which  you  tethered  to  the  horse-block?" 

"Will  I  allow  you?  What  a  question!"  The 
minister  was  nervous.  Already  he  saw  the  few 
elusive  dimes  he  possessed  scampering  away  on  er- 
rands of  purchasing  oats,  whereas  it  was  only  by 
practising  the  utmost  frugality  that  the  wants  of 
the  material  man  were  supplied.  He  began  to 
feel  uncomfortable  in  that  his  zeal  had  betrayed 
him  into  a  pit,  from  which  he  must  extricate  him- 
self at  whatever  jeopardy  to  pride. 

"You  jest — you  could  not  think  seriously  of 
parting  with  such  a  superb  creature." 

"I  assure  you,  my  kind  friend,  I  was  never  more 
in  earnest.  Not  only  do  I  desire  you  to  accept 
the  horse,  but  I  am  about  to  urge  you  to  occupy 
my  home."  The  gentleman  in  cloth  collapsed. 
"I  am  going  away,"  taking  advantage  of  the  help- 
lessness of  his  auditor,  "to  be  gone  several  years. 
You  already  are  aware  that  I  have  no  kindred,  ex- 
62 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

cept  from  the  common  parentage  of  the  'Gar- 
den.' " 

Rev.  St.  Clair  was  a  poor  man;  more,  he  had 
always  been  poor.  He  had  worked  his  way 
through  college,  and  was  a  capital  manager.  The 
remains  of  a  dollar  would  linger  longer  in  his 
pockets  than  in  those  of  any  other  person  the 
writer  has  ever  known.  This  was  not  so  much  a 
matter  of  choice  as  of  necessity.  Still  he  never, 
in  later  years,  made  his  previous  privations  and 
self-denial  points  of  virtuous  excellence.  While  he 
had  never  been  at  home  on  "Easy  Street,"  as  the 
saying  goes,  he  preferred  his  acquaintances  to 
reckon  him  an  inhabitant  of  that  favored  locality, 
providing  they  would  be  gracious  enough  to  con- 
sider him  thus  fortunate  without  the  practice  of 
duplicity  on  his  part.  Here  was  an  instance  in 
which  the  very  agreeable  delusion  had  to  be  shat- 
tered. He  was  too  much  of  a  worldly  student  to 
be  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  being  "broke"  is  sel- 
dom troublesome,  unless  the  secret  is  exposed  to 
public  inspection.  He  was  in  a  dilemma,  and, 
anxious  to  extricate  himself  as  creditably  as  pos- 
sible, without  extra  violence  to  his  notions  of  the 
worldly  fitness  of  things. 

"Mrs.  St.  Clair  and  myself  have  become  deeply 
attached  to  our  modest  home,"  commenced  the 
dominie,  to  be  stopped  by  the  interruption 

"Now,  Mr.  St.  Clair,  I  am  not  going  to  accept 
63 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

'no'  for  an  answer.  I  have  driven  over  to  take 
yourself  and  worthy  lady  to  examine  the  estab- 
lishment, and,  if  you  will  acquaint  Mrs.  St.  Clair 
with  the  object  of  my  visit,  in  order  that  she  may 
get  ready  to  accompany  us  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment,  you  will  greatly  oblige  me." 

"Thinks  I  am  a  millionaire,  with  a  couple  of 
thousand  rent — a  bagatelle,  five  hundred,  in  keep- 
ing up  the  premises — a  song !"  ruminated  the  min- 
ister to  himself.  There  is  a  sort  of  perversity  in 
man's  make-up  that  is  very  indulgent  to  being 
considered  well-to-do  by  associates.  Upon  sitting 
down,  nine  times  out  of  ten,  a  man's  hand  will  in- 
stinctively cover,  with  unerring  precision,  the 
patch  on  the  knee  of  his  trousers,  and  holy  orders, 
appearances  to  the  contrary,  are  no  exception  to 
the  rule.  Rev.  St.  Clair  cherished  a  genuine  re- 
gard for  his  visitor.  He  evinced  deep  pleasure  in 
the  young  man's  preference  for  his  society.  To 
be  sure,  the  minister  had  known  the  parents  of 
Edward  Reynolds.  He  had  feelingly  preached  the 
funeral  sermons  of  father  and  mother,  members  of 
his  church,  following  each  other  to  the  grave  one 
week  apart,  and  had  offered  such  consolation  to 
the  sorrowing  son  as  his  professional  privileges 
permitted.  He  had  heard  of  the  boy  and  girl  at- 
tachment, of  the  broken  engagement,  and  readily 
divined  the  cause  of  the  resolve  to  go  away.  But 
his  part  in  the  present  business  transaction  should 
64 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

be  free  from  mercenary  motives.  So  far  as  ha 
was  concerned,  he  would  break  the  bubble., 

"Mr.  Reynolds,  do  you  know  I  am  a  poor  man?" 
It  was  said  without  reservation. 

"Why,  of  course  I  do." 

"Oh,  you  do!  How  refreshingly  ingenuous," 
commented  the  clergyman  to  himself. 

"I  should  not  otherwise  make  the  request,"  con- 
tinued the  young  man. 

"No?"  arching  the  eyebrows  a  notch  higher. 

"You  see,  I  am  contemplating  an  absence  of 
many  years.  I  shall  never  dispose  of  the  home  of 
my  parents.  I  want  tenants  to  my  taste,  and  the 
knowledge  that  the  friends  who  have  shown  me  so 
much  kindness  are  living  in  my  home,  and  that  the 
old  lady  domestic  and  her  son  will  be  treated  affec- 
tionately, that,  perhaps,  one  room  will  be  kept 
apart  for  my  distant  return,  that  the  premises  will 
be  kept  in  repair  and  the  grounds  tended,  as  my 
parents  delighted  in  them,  will  be  to  me,  wherever 
I  chance  to  go,  a  sweet  reflection." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  repeat,  I  am  a  poor 
man." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"I  cannot  pay  rent." 

"Rent!  I  have  demanded  no  rent." 

Rev.  St.  Clair  began  to  wriggle  uneasily  in  his* 
chair.  He  seemed  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  the 
other's  unfairness.  The  younger  nian,  who  was 
65 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

watching  him  intently,  did  not  fail  to  observe  the 
thoughts  running  in  the  clergyman's  mind,  and 
going  to  his  side,  took  his  hand  kindly. 

"You  are  my  friend,  you  were  my  father's,  my 
mother's  friend ;  I  am  vacating  my  home,  and  must 
leave  it  in  somebody's  possession;  whom  so  natur- 
ally to  be  chosen  ?  You  shall  keep  the  old  garden- 
er, if  you  like,  who  knows  every  nook  and  crook  of 
the  grounds." 

Mr.  Reynolds  could  be  very  irresistible  when  he 
preferred,  but  a  poor  man's  pride  is  no  small  ob- 
stacle to  be  removed.  Mrs.  St.  Clair  appeared  in 
the  room. 

"I  thought  I  recognized  your  voice,"  she  said, 
extending  her  hand  in  welcome  to  the  visitor.  "By 
the  way,"  she  continued,  "you  must  stay  and  dine 
with  us." 

Edward  Reynolds  was  no  stranger  at  the  table 
of  Rev.  St.  Clair.  For  some  months  a  friendship 
had  existed  between  these  two  men,  who  were  in 
many  respects  of  habit  and  disposition  similar. 
Had  Edward  Reynolds  been  poor,  he  would  have 
been  a  St.  Clair;  had  St.  Clair  been  born  rich,  he 
would  have  been  an  Edward  Reynolds.  The  inti- 
macy was  profitable  to  both. 

"On  one  condition,"  replied  Reynolds,  glancing 
from  Mrs.  St.  Clair  to  her  husband. 

"Granted,  if  I  may  decide.     Impose  the  terms." 

"I  have  found  an  ally.  Together,  sir,"  ad- 
66 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

dressing  the  intrepid  spiritual  advisor,  "we  shall 
overcome  your  scruples." 

Here  Mrs.  St.  Clair  was  made  acquainted  with 
the  nature  of  the  visit,  and  joined  so  heartily  in 
the  plan  that  her  devoted  better-half  capitulated 
at  discretion.  Possession  was  to  be  taken  at  once. 
Everything  was  to  remain  in  the  great  house  to 
be  enjoyed  by  the  new  occupants  until  the  owner's 
return.  Mrs.  St.  Clair  fluttered  about,  bubbling 
over  with  happiness  at  the  prospects  of  the  tem- 
poral advantages  so  unexpectedly  fallen  to  their 
lot.  She  was  an  ambitious  woman,  proud  of  her 
husband,  earnest  in  his  work,  anxious  for  his  ad- 
vancement. Her  woman's  intuition  told  her  that 
a  residence  in  the  palatial  home  of  the  Reynolds 
would  be  attended  with  benefits  of  no  mean  order. 
Society  imposes  terms  which  may  be  artificial  and 
unreasonable,  but  for  all  that,  not  to  be  despised; 
and  this  sensible  little  woman  saw  as  through  a 
horoscope  the  improvement  of  her  husband's  cir- 
cumstances. The  following  years  showed  her  a 
true  prophetess. 


67 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  small  boy,  perhaps  fourteen  years  of  age,  had 
turned  from  the  beaten  highway  and  penetrated 
the  dense  wood  growing  upon  either  side  of  the 
road  at  this  point. 

About  ten  or  fifteen  rods  farther,  had  he  gone 
that  distance,  he  would  have  come  to  a  wooden 
bridge,  which  spanned  the  Sinnemahoning  River, 
now  turbulent  with  recent  storms ;  and  he  might 
have  seen,  situated  on  the  opposite  shore,  some 
eight  or  ten  rods  distant  from  the  bank,  a  large, 
imposing  house,  surrounded  by  stately  trees;  and 
he  could  have  heard  the  merry  laughter  of  many 
children,  for  the  daughter,  who  queened  it  in  this 
magnificent  residence,  was  celebrating,  with  appro- 
priate festivities,  her  fifth  birthday. 

It  was  as  well  he  turned  into  the  forest  where 
he  did,  else  the  sound  of  the  glad  voices,  and  the 
sight  of  the  gay  apparel,  might  have  added  more 
bitterness  to  the  cup  already  overflowing. 

Notwithstanding  the  early  November  day  was 
severe,  there  was  scarcely  sufficient  clothing  worn 
by  this  youth  to  cover  his  nakedness.  His  little 
brown  legs  and  arms  were  exposed  below  the  knees 
and  elbows ;  yet,  he  did  not  seem  to  mind  his  condi- 
68 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

tion,  having  been  inured  to  all  kinds  of  weather 
and  privation.  Such  instances  of  endurance  sug- 
gest to  the  mind  an  epiphytic  being — able  to  exist 
in  not  withdrawing  from  the  substance  of  others. 

As  the  boy  advanced  into  the  wood,  he  surveyed 
the  ground  carefully,  now  and  then  his  vigilance 
being  rewarded  in  the  discovery  of  a  nut,  which 
was  immediately  transferred  to  a  basket  suspend- 
ed by  a  stout  cord  from  his  shoulders.  The  boy, 
during  these  operations  among  the  leaves,  kept  up 
a  nondescript  whistling  tune,  being  a  sort  of  com- 
bination between  content  and  resignation. 

It  was  evident  the  squirrels,  which  watched  the 
encroachment  of  the  stranger  with  manifest  suspi- 
cion, had  preceded  him  and  garnered  the  larger 
part  of  these  kernels  for  their  winter  supply. 

Having  the  advantage  of  experience,  the  lad 
searched  the  tops  of  the  tall  hickories  and,  locating 
such  trees  as  had  many  burrs,  would  examine 
the  ground  beneath  them  with  varying  success. 

Standing  among  the  trees  with  his  head  thrown 
well  back,  gazing  upwards,  he  presented  a  strange 
picture.  His  was  a  face  singularly  handsome, 
though  emaciated  and  browned  by  exposure ;  every 
feature  was  strong  and  reliant.  One  seeing  him 
thus  might  not  well  have  avoided  wondering  by 
what  combination  of  circumstances  the  lad  was  re- 
duced to  his  present  extremity ;  surely  that  boy's 
lineage  was  good.  The  quick  intelligence  of  that 
69 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

face,  and  that  massive  head,  about  which  clustered 
thick  curls  of  hair,  dark  as  a  raven's  wing,  indi- 
cated a  misunderstanding  somewhere. 

While  in  this  attitude,  his  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  the  sound  of  children's  voices,  and, 
peering  among  the  trees,  he  saw  a  number  of  boys 
and  girls  collecting  their  arms  full  of  pieces  of 
bark  and  driftwood,  and  approaching  perilously 
near  the  angry  river,  they  would  throw  this  mis- 
cellaneous debris  into  the  water,  making  the  woods 
echo  with  the  Babel  of  merriment. 

"It  is  queer,"  he  commented  to  himself,  half 
aloud,  "they  are  permitted  to  play  in  that  manner ; 
someone  should  warn  them  of  their  danger."  But 
as  he  looked  at  their  fine  clothes  and  then  at  his 
own  half-clad  figure,  he  acknowledged  to  himself 
that,  should  he  perform  his  office,  it  would  only 
have  the  opposite  effect,  if  for  no  other  object 
than  giving  him  to  understand  that  advice  was 
disdained  coming  from  such  a  source. 

Somehow  the  reflection  afforded  him  anything 
but  pleasure,  and  it  is  no  wonder,  there  stole  into 
his  heart  bitterness  and  rebellion  against  a  fate, 
which  held  him,  as  in  a  vice,  within  these  confines 
of  social  ostracism.  It  is  a  cruel  lesson,  this — 
and  he  was  young  to  have  learned  it — that  a  serv- 
ice, however  meritorious  and  opportune,  is  nearly 
always  regarded  as  effrontery  when  volunteered  by 
a  social  inferior;  and  it  is  just  possible  he  was 
70 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

watching  their  diversion  with  less  concern,  when 
there  rang  out,  shrill  and  distinct,  from  a  frantic 
mother's  lips,  "My  child,  my  child!" 

All  thoughts  of  indifference  vanished,  and  with 
the  fleetness  of  a  deer  he  bounded  forward  to  the 
group  of  silent,  awe-stricken  children.  He  seized 
the  woman,  who  had  arrived  before  him  at  the 
bank,  and  who  was  in  the  act  of  throwing  herself 
into  the  swiftly  gliding  water,  and  forced  her 
backward. 

"Hold  her,"  he  said,  and  the  next  moment  he 
had  leaped  far  out  into  the  torrent  that  lashed  it- 
self in  its  fury  into  foam.  After  a  few  regular 
strokes,  he  reached  the  yet  conscious  child,  whose 
light  woolen  garments  had  buoyed  her  up. 

"Do  not  clutch  hold  of  me,"  he  commanded, 
"and  I  will  save  you." 

The  mother  and  children  followed  along  the 
shore,  watching  the  struggles  of  the  boy  with  in- 
tense anxiety.  The  peril  of  one  of  their  favorites 
had  broken  down  all  barriers  of  social  caste;  and, 
yet,  did  they  think  of  him  save  as  an  instrument 
by  which  one  of  their  number  was  to  be  restored? 

Wave  after  wave  would  beat  them  back  from 
any  temporary  advantage;  still,  undaunted,  the 
little  fellow  would  renew  his  efforts  with  additional 
vigor.  Slowly  but  surely  he  was  nearing  the 
bank  with  his  helpless  burden.  Suddenly  the 
watchers  saw  him  bending  to  his  task  with  every 
71 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

energy  strained  to  its  utmost,  but  the  murmur  of 
praise  died  upon  their  lips,  and  there  issued  from 
twenty  small  throats  in  chorus,  "A  rock !  A  rock ! 
Look  out  for  the  rock !"  They  saw  the  boy  clutch 
the  girl  close  in  his  arms,  then  she  shot  out  of  those 
arms,  past  the  ragged  edges  of  the  rock,  into  the 
stiller  waters  beyond.  The  boy  recoiled,  was 
swept  onward  like  a  plaything  against  the  obstruc- 
tion, was  caught  in  the  swirl,  lifted  nearly  from 
the  water,  whirled  around  like  a  top,  and  disap- 
peared beneath  the  waves. 

Oh!  would  he  never  rise  to  the  surface?  Mo- 
ments seemed  ages  to  those  anxious  watchers.  The 
grief-stricken  mother,  faint  and  despairing,  fell 
upon  her  knees  and  implored  heaven's  aid  in  behalf 
of  those  perishing  ones.  And,  as  though  in  an- 
swer to  her  prayer,  the  boy  arose  to  the  surface 
and  made  his  way  with  difficulty  to  the  unconscious 
girl.  Placing  the  collar  of  her  dress  between  his 
teeth,  supporting  her  head  above  the  water,  he 
swam  slowly  towards  the  shore.  One  arm  was 
bruised  and  numbed  by  the  collision.  He  caught 
and  clung  to  the  bough  of  a  tree,  which  overhung 
the  river,  until  a  couple  of  men  arrived,  one  of 
whom,  taking  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  plunged 
into  the  river  and  brought  the  girl  ashore.  As 
might  have  been  expected,  all  attention,  quite 
naturally,  centered  upon  her. 

"There  is  life,"  said  the  man,  undertaking  with- 
72 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

out  delay  the  work  of  resuscitation.  As  the  girl 
gave  signs  of  returning  animation,  he  heard  some- 
one ask,  "Where  is  the  boy?  He  was  clinging 
there  a  moment  ago."  The  man  bounded  to  his 
feet,  muttering  something  like  an  oath  between 
his  clenched  teeth.  He  ran  along  the  bank  of  the 
river,  peering  into  its  depths,  stopped,  dived  into 
the  water,  and,  when  he  reappeared,  held  within 
his  arms  the  still  and  passive  form  of  the  waif.  In 
a  moment  he  had  regained  the  shore,  and,  laying 
his  charge  face  downward,  placed  his  hands  im- 
mediately back  and  under  the  boy's  chest,  and 
lifted  gently  upwards,  a  stream  of  water  gurgled 
from  the  lad's  mouth.  Then,  fixing  his  hands 
on  either  side  of  the  small  chest,  he  produced  arti- 
ficial respiration,  and  continued  so  to  do  until  a 
low  moan  issued  from  the  thin  lips.  During  the 
entire  time  occupied  in  these  ministrations  to  the 
boy  not  so  much  as  a  sound  escaped  the  man's  lips, 
but  at  the  first  moan  the  child  made  he  turned 
upon  the  man  reaching  the  shore  with  him. 

"You  cur,  I  swear  I  would  have  murdered  you 
if  this  young  hero  had  drowned !" 

The  individual  thus  addressed,  being  of  the 
opinion  that  he  deserved  rebuke,  but  not  in  the 
summary  manner  indicated,  remained  perfectly  si- 
lent for  fear  the  rude,  blunt  fellow  might  proceed, 
under  any  circumstances,  to  place  his  implied 
threat  into  execution. 

73 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Mrs.  Eldridge  no  sooner  assured  herself  that 
her  daughter  was  out  of  immediate  danger  than 
she  hurried  to  the  assistance  of  the  brave  boy  and 
shrank  not  from  chafing  his  hands  and  feet,  until 
informed  that  it  was  no  longer  necessary,  al- 
though her  own  soft  hands  were  blistered  by  the 
friction ;  and,  if  ever  a  fervent  and  heartfelt 
"Thank  God"  was  breathed  from  human  lips,  hers 
gave  it  utterance  upon  the  little  rescuer  showing 
signs  of  life. 

A  messenger  was  despatched  to  summon  a  physi- 
cian, and  the  children  no  sooner  had  been  placed 
in  bed  than  he  arrived.  He  pronounced  Madge, 
the  little  girl,  doing  nicely;  but,  as  he  looked  at 
the  bright  spots  burning  upon  the  boy's  cheeks, 
and  felt  the  leaping  pulse,  a  graver  expression  vis- 
ited his  face.  Had  a  brother  Esculapius  seen  the 
prescription  he  proceeded  to  write,  it  would  have 
been  understood  that  the  patient  was  threatened 
with  fever. 

For  weeks  the  unclaimed  boy  lay  struggling 
with  as  fierce  and  dread  an  enemy  as  the  surging 
river  had  been.  Many  times  during  his  long  ill- 
ness, in  the  delirium  of  fever,  he  would  bound  from 
his  bed  and  grapple  the  attendants  with  the 
strength  of  a  dozen  boys,  hissing  between  his 
clenched  teeth,  "A  rock!  A  rock!" 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Three  weeks  have  passed  since  relating  the  inci- 
dents recorded  in  the  previous  chapter.  Mrs.  El- 
dridge  is  reclining  in  a  large,  easy  chair,  upon  her 
face  being  evident  traces  of  long  vigils.  The 
transparent  lids  are  closing  irresistibly  and  eclip- 
sing those  tired  eyes.  There  is  perfect  quiet  in 
the  room,  except  for  an  occasional  sound  coming 
from  the  adjoining  apartment.  The  rooms  com- 
municated with  each  other  by  a  double  door,  while 
some  heavy  tapestry  is  drawn  back,  affording  a 
complete  view  of  the  interior  of  the  one  whence  the 
occasional  sound  proceeds.  A  glance  into  the  bed- 
room reveals  a  heavy  mahogany  bedstead,  with 
rich  and  gorgeous  material,  while,  lying  upon 
this  bed  with  a  sheet  and  cover  of  down 
spread  over  him,  is  seen  the  figure  of  a  mere  child. 
Ever  and  anon  the  fingers  of  the  boy  close  and  re- 
lax, marked  occasionally  by  convulsive  twitchings, 
at  which  latter  times  the  thin  lips  emit  faint  moans. 
At  such  times  the  silent  watcher  rises  softly,  and, 
stealing  to  the  bedside,  gazes  wistfully  at  the  little 
sufferer. 

During  these  long  weeks  Mrs.  Eldridge  had 
shared  in  the  nursing  of  this  homeless  wanderer. 
75 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Nothing  had  been  able  to  swerve  her  from  her  reso- 
lution. The  silent  watcher  has  but  just  re- 
turned from  the  side  of  the  little  patient,  and 
sinking  into  a  chair,  partly  closes  her  eyes.  There 
seems  less  moaning  from  the  adjacent  apartment, 
and  those  poor  tired  eyes  are  closing  despite  her 
brave  resistance,  while  the  bosom,  rising  and  fall- 
ing with  more  regular  respiration,  shows  the  pres- 
ence of  approaching  slumber.  There  is  a  slight 
noise  at  the  door  in  another  location  of  the  room. 
The  watcher  starts,  wideawake  at  the  trifling  dis- 
turbance, and  glances  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
the  sound.  It  is  little  Madge.  She  tiptoes  to  the 
side  of  her  mother  and  receives  the  caress  a  mother 
alone  knows  how  to  bestow.  There  is  no  word 
spoken.  There  seems  to  be  a  tacit  understanding 
that  conversation  has  been  prohibited  in  this  part 
of  the  house.  After  a  few  minutes,  the  child  with- 
draws from  her  mother's  clinging  embrace,  and 
treads  cautiously  to  the  heavy  curtains  where, 
pausing  a  bit  irresolute,  she  advances  nearer  and 
is  watching  the  fitful  breathing  of  the  boy.  Her 
face  is  a  mixture  of  infantile  sadness  and  sym- 
pathy. The  faces  of  the  two  children  are  sepa- 
rated only  by  the  space  of  a  couple  of  feet.  Slow- 
ly the  dark  eyes  of  the  slumberer  open,  and  the 
first  gaze  of  awakening  intelligence  falls  upon  the 
childish  features  bending  above  his  own.  A  blank 
stare  at  first,  then  a  seeming  transformation,  as 
76 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

there  passes  into  those  eyes  the  long-sleeping  con- 
sciousness of  a  soul.  In  an  instant  the  girl  was 
at  her  mother's  side. 

"He  saw  me,  mamma." 

"Hush,  child,  you  will  disturb  him." 

"No,  no,  mamma,  he  saw  me — the  other  way — 
as  you  see  me  now." 

The  mother  soothed  the  strange  excitement  as 
best  she  could,  until  the  child,  pained  at  the  want 
of  her  mother's  faith,  escaped  and  returned  to  the 
bed,  the  eyes  of  the  boy  following  her  as  she  ap- 
proached, as  though  by  sight,  alone,  understand- 
ing could  be  conveyed  to  the  weakened  powers  of 
the  intellect.  He  was  making  efforts  at  recollec- 
tion. A  part  of  the  past  was  before  him,  and  the 
threads  of  that  past  were  so  hard  to  take  up  and 
place  together.  He  was  afraid  if  he  spoke,  or 
rose,  the  vision  before  him  would  vanish.  The 
covering  had  become  disarranged,  and  somebody's 
leg — it  was  not  his  leg,  so  white  and  thin  that  a 
man's  hand  could  girth  it — was  exposed.  He 
thought  to  place  the  spread  over  it,  but  his 
arm  refused  to  move.  He  attempted  to  rise  and 
fell  back  exhausted.  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  bending 
over  him,  and,  smoothing  the  pillow  under  his 
head,  said  reassuringly,  "You  have  been  ill  and 
must  remain  quiet  and  rest." 

"Then  she  did  not  drown?  Oh,  what  dreadful 
dreams  I  have  had !" 

77 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Madge  leaned  against  the  bed  and  took  the 
wasted  fingers  in  her  own  plump  hand. 

"No,  my  brave  boy;  you  saved  her  life,  as  you 
said  you  should,  but" — and  the  woman  shuddered, 
"you  came  near  losing  your  own.  Now  you  must 
keep  quiet  and  you  will  soon  be  well  again." 

"Mamma,  he  is  going  to  sleep,"  whispered  the 
little  girl,  still  resting  against  the  bed  and  holding 
his  hand.  True  enough,  the  boy  had  fallen  into  a 
deep  and  natural  slumber.  The  doctor  came  in 
and  looked  at  his  patient,  remained  at  the  bedside 
fully  an  hour,  and,  upon  rising  to  depart,  Mrs. 
Eldridge  followed  him  into  another  room. 

"Yes,  he  will  live ;  thanks  to  good  nursing  more 
than  to  my  medicines,"  said  the  physician  in  an- 
swer to  the  questioning  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  thankful !" 

This  woman  had  stood  at  the  bedside  night  and 
day  for  weeks.  There  had  been  no  sign  of  weak- 
ness or  exhaustion,  yet  now  she  was  hysterical. 
The  overwrought  nervous  faculties,  upon  the  first 
confirmation  of  hope,  seemed  to  collapse,  and  she 
shivered  as  with  ague. 

"You  must  seek  repose,  madam,  or  you  will  cer- 
tainly be  sick;  in  fact,  you  are  ill.  Here,  take 
this,"  administering  a  cordial,  "and  get  some 
rest." 

The  nurse  joined  them,  and,  hearing  the  physi- 
cian's injunction,  and  alarmed  at  the  apparent 
78 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

agitation  of  the  lady,  hastened  to  add  her  au- 
thority. 

"You  must  be  governed  by  Dr.  Bradley,  Mrs. 
Eldridge,  or  we  shall  have  another  patient  upon 
our  hands." 

"One  who  has  been  so  strong  when  we  feared 
the  worst,"  interposed  the  physician,  "must  not 
fail  us  now,  when  the  moment  of  danger  is  past." 

"I  know  it  is  weak,  but  I  cannot  help  it,"  at  the 
same  time  controlling  herself  despite  her  admission 
to  the  contrary. 

"The  majority  is  against  you,  Mrs.  Eldridge," 
said  the  physician,  with  the  tact  of  his  profession, 

"How  dependent  upon  these  despots  we  are!" 
said  the  lady,  as  she  permitted  herself  to  be  as- 
sisted to  her  room,  after  having  first  exacted  a 
promise  from  Dr.  Bradley  that  he  would  remain 
until  perfectly  satisfied  that  the  boy  was  out  of 
danger. 


79 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Clarence  Clark,  who  is  strong  again,  and  Madge 
are  examining  picture-books,  which  are  scattered 
about  the  room  in  great  confusion.  They  gaze 
upon  old  castles,  animals  and  poultry,  produced 
and  colored  so  faithfully  in  the  books,  each  ex- 
plaining in  his  or  her  way  the  impressions  repre- 
sented by  the  peculiar  array,  as  page  follows  page 
of  the  joint  inspection.  What  pleasant  days  they 
are  passing  together,  these  two!  The  last  trace 
of  diffidence  has  long  since  passed,  and  they  romp 
in  fields,  climb  hillocks  and  play  games  with  the 
energy  habitual  to  children  of  their  age.  The 
boy  is  belabored  with  tasks  of  all  sorts  as  the  wil- 
ful girl  glides  from  one  fancy  to  another  in  whim- 
sical caprice.  He  draws  her,  all  bundled  up,  on 
the  sled;  steers  as  they  descend  the  hillside  on 
the  coaster,  and,  in  fact,  has  already  recognized 
the  supremacy  of  the  little  tyrant  in  all  those 
prerogatives  which  children  so  eagerly  usurp,  es- 
pecially those  that  wear  dresses. 

"Hain't  it  awful  wicked  to  swear?"  asked  the 
girl  of  the  superior  judgment  of  the  boy,  glancing 
up  into  his  face  with  eyes  full  of  innocent  inquiry, 
80 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

and  closing  the  covers  of  the  book  with  such  force 
that  they  whacked  together  with  a  loud  report. 

"I  s'pects,"  said  the  boy,  looking  at  his  inter- 
locutor more  or  less  disconcerted,  "it  is." 

"What  makes  you  swear  then?"  asked  the  girl, 
tentatively. 

"Perhaps  I  does,  and  perhaps  I  doesn't,"  as- 
serted the  boy,  evading  a  direct  reply.  "Anyway 
you  never  heard  me  swear." 

"Well,  nurse  told  mamma  once  you  swore  just 
dreadful  when  you  was  sick.  Mamma  said,  'Poor 
soul,  he  didn't  know  better.'  You  does  know  bet- 
ter, doesn't  you?" 

"If  I  do  know  better,  don't  you  want  me  to  use 
cuss  words?"  queried  the  boy. 

"No,  'cause  it's  wicked,  and  wicked  folks  don't 
go  to  heaven  when  they  die,"  explained  the  young 
evangelist. 

"Well,  I'll  never  swear  again,"  he  said  deliber- 
ately. 

"Honest  bright,  cross  your  heart,"  which  exer- 
cise the  boy  went  through  to  the  entire  satisfac- 
tion of  the  girl's  notions  of  propriety. 

"Say,"  said  the  girl,  dismissing  the  previous 
subject  as  settled,  "why  didn't  Leo  save  me  from 
drowning?" 

"Leo!     Who  is  Leo?"  inquired  the  boy. 

"Why,  Leo  is  a  bigger  boy  as  you,"  explained 
the  girl. 

81 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Maybe  he  can't  swim,"  said  the  boy,  reflec- 
tively. 

"Yes,  he  can,  'cause  he  told  me  one  day,  when 
We  was  down  by  the  river,  that  he  w'd  bet  he  could 
swim  across  to  the  other  side,  if  the  water  was 
warm  in  July.  He  said  so,  yes  he  did.  He  said 
he  wasn't  afraid  of  fishes  and  crabs.  Say,  does 
crabs'  eyes  have  stones  in  'em?  How  can  they  sec 
with  stones  in  their  eyes?"  she  rambled  on  garru- 
lously. 

"Where  does  Leo  live?"  asked  the  boy,  who 
somehow  was  not  pleased  at  the  introduction  of  the 
stranger. 

"Oh!  he  lives  away  over  the  big  ocean,  and  he 
went  home  in  a  great  big  ship ;  he  and  his  mamma 
and  little  sister.  I  don't  like  Leo,  'cept  when  he's 
good.  He  put  me  under  a  box  one  day  and  would 
not  let  me  out,  and  I  told  him  I  wished  the  big  ship 
would  catch  fire,  and  that  he  would  have  to  swim 
home  among  the  whales  and  crocodiles.  Your 
necktie  is  undone.  I  can  tie  ties  just  beautiful, 
Leo  says."  And  she  applied  herself  to  the  task 
of  arranging  his  neckwear.  "Honest  and  true,  Leo 
told  me  I  was  first-rate  at  tying  bows  and  ribbons 
and  neckties  and  shoestrings  and  everything  like 
that,"  as  she  put  the  finishing  touches  to  the  work 
in  charge.  "What  did  you  say  was  the  reason  he 
didn't  pull  me  out  of  the  river?" 

"I  didn't  say." 

82 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Well,  don't  you  know?" 

"Maybe  he  thought  he  would  drown." 

"Oh,  dear!"  shuddered  the  girl,  "I  wouldn't 
want  him  to  do  that,  even  if  he  was  mean  in  put- 
ting me  under  a  box.  Did  you  think  you  would 
drown?" 

"I  didn't  think  anything,"  answered  the  boy. 

"Well,  you  told  me  not  to  clutch  hold  of  you 
and  you  would  save  me?"  she  said  interrogatively. 

"Well!" 

"And  you  did,  too,  didn't  you?" 

"Leo  lives  over  the  ocean — is  he  a  cousin  of 
yours?"  queried  the  boy,  who  seemed  unable  to 
banish  the  intruder  from  his  mind. 

"Dear  me,  no.  My  mamma  and  his  mamma  are 
great  friends,  and  sometime,  mamma  says,  we  shall 
go  there,  when  I  am  grown  up  to  a  great  big  girl. 
Maybe  you  will  go  with  us." 

"I?"  said  he,  surreptitiously  winding  up  the 
chatterbox. 

"Yes,  don't  you  know,  you  are  going  to  live 
with  us  and  be  my  big  brother,  and  keep  me  out  of 
danger  when  we  go  there,  'cause  you  hain't  got  no 
home,"  with  visions  of  big  oceans  and  ships  in  her 
mind.  "I  want  you  to  put  Leo  under  a  box,  and 
we  will  keep  him  there  till  it's  dark,  and  he's  afraid 
and  begs  just  awful  to  get  out." 

This  proposition  the  boy  omitted  to  affirm  or 
disaffirm,  unless  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  implied 
83 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

that  he  was  willing  to  engage  in  the  diversion, 
should  the  young  lady  remain  of  the  same  mind  at 
the  appointed  time.  The  little  girl  began  picking 
up  the  books,  thrown  about  miscellaneously,  and 
was  debating  what  next  should  be  the  program  of 
the  morning.  The  boy  silently  joined  her  in  the 
work  of  arranging  the  picture-books  in  order. 

"Mamma  and  us  are  going  to  Philadelphia  next 
week,"  said  the  little  girl.  "Mamma  told  me  so 
when  putting  me  to  bed  last  night,  after  I  had 
said  my  prayers.  We  are  going  down  to  grand- 
pap's.  Grandpap  buys  me  lots  of  candy,  and 
nuts,  and  oranges,  and  everything,  only  he  won't 
let  me  eat  the  candy  as  I  want  to.  He  makes  me 
put  whole  lots  of  it  on  the  shelf.  You  just  ought 
to  see  the  playthings  I  have  packed  away  in  the 
nursery;  they're  just  girl  playthings,  though,  and 
we'll  make  grandpap  buy  you  engines  and  ships 
and  other  things  what  boys  like.  He's  coming  up 
to  get  mamma,  so  mamma  said,  and  take  her  home. 
We  live  with  grandpap  now,  except  when  we  come 
up  here.  And  grandma  lets  me  have  all  the  gems 
I  want,  and  fried  cakes  and  raspberry  jam.  She 
says  she  was  a  little  girl  once  and  hadn't  forgot." 

While  the  girl  was  talking,  the  boy  was  thinking 
industriously  on  his  own  account.  This  life  was 
all  strange  to  him;  yet,  he  seemed  to  habituate 
himself  to  the  new  surroundings  readily.  His 
clothing  was  of  the  best  material  and  fitted  his 
84 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

trim  figure  perfectly,  whereas  his  recollection  re- 
called nothing  but  rags  and  nakedness,  save  the 
indistinct  memory  that  floated  before  his  vision, 
away  off,  so  far  in  the  background  that  it  rose  as 
a  myth  out  of  the  privations  of  more  familiar 
hardships  of  his  life.  He  was  wondering  if  it  were 
true  that  the  darkness  into  which  he  had  been 
plunged  and  had  groped  about  so  blindly  had 
vanished  for  all  time  to  come,  and  that  the  future 
years  were  to  find  him  in  his  present  happy  sur- 
roundings. The  past  seemed  like  some  dreadful 
nightmare,  and  he  felt  that  to  be  turned  adrift  to 
wander  back  to  his  old  exile  would  kill  him.  What 
the  little  girl  had  said  about  his  living  with  them 
had  filled  his  breast  with  exaltation.  He  resolved 
to  be  helpful  to  his  benefactress,  to  watch  over  the 
little  child  and  keep  her  from  harm's  way ;  besides, 
he  could  do  innumerable  errands,  and  lighten  the 
burdens  of  the  household.  It  never  occurred  to 
him  that  the  life  he  had  spared  at  such  imminent 
peril  to  his  own  entitled  him  to  reward.  His  st&y 
at  the  home  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  a  vivid  page 
fresh  from  fairyland.  He  had  dreaded  the  time 
when  he  should  have  to  set  his  face  resolutely 
against  these  halcyon  days  to  take  up  the  old  life 
at  the  point  where  it  had  been  interrupted.  Mrs. 
Eldridge,  herself,  had  never  talked  with  him  upon 
the  subject.  The  babbling  child  had  brought  and 
delivered  the  message  which  ended  all  his  doubts 
85 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

and  fears.  It  seemed  too  good  to  be  true,  and  yet' 
he  placed  a  blind  confidence  in  the  statement  which 
Madge  had  communicated  to  him.  The  dismal 
past  seemed  to  be  receding,  and  a  gilded  future, 
full,  complete,  grand,  rose  hopefully  before  him. 
None  can  realize  the  picture  except  him  that  turns 
to  such  good  fortune  from  the  shivering  penury 
of  want  and  exposure. 

"Mamma  says  we  can  go  to  the  theater  with  her 
sometime  in  the  big  playhouse,  and  see  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,  Rip  Van  Winkle  and  Little  Lord 
Fauntleroy.  Does  you  believe,"  she  asked,  "that 
Van  Winkle  sleeped  twenty  years,  and  his  little 
dog  Snyder  grew  up  in  a  tree?"  She  waited  for 
the  boy  to  reply,  but  he  was  in  too  much  of  a 
dream  himself  to  give  valuable  information  on  the 
subject. 

Thus  the  children  busied  themselves  from  day 
to  day.  Ever  in  each  other's  company,  sharing 
each  other's  amusements,  and  dividing  the  tasks, 
for  Mrs.  Eldridge  believed  that  children  should 
have  employment,  which  fixes  habit  and  develops 
character. 

The  following  week  Banker  Richards  came  and 
took  his  daughter  and  children  home. 


86 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  X. 

Upon  the  first  day  of  January,  annually,  a  re- 
mittance of  five  hundred  dollars  was  received  by 

Rev.  St.  Clair  from  the  banking  firm  of to 

defray  expenses  of  keeping  the  grounds  in  order. 
These  were  the  only  tidings  of  the  absent  one.  St. 
Clair  rose  rapidly  to  fame,  fortune  lavishing  upon 
him  her  choicest  smiles  and  favors.  His  parish- 
ioners included  Philadelphia's  most  distinguished 
church-going  population.  He  had  lived  in  the 
great  house  seven  years.  There  was  no  part  of  the 
premises  but  had  become  dear  to  him  and  his  wife. 
His  children  were  born  under  the  spreading  roofs 
of  this  mansion.  His  happiest  associations  clus- 
tered and  centered  here. 

One  year  after  marriage  Alice  Eldridge  had  lost 
her  husband.  Rev.  St.  Clair  had  delivered  the 
funeral  address.  The  following  years  he  admin- 
istered spiritually  to  the  widow  and  the  fatherless 
girl.  Mrs.  St.  Clair  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  are  firm 
friends,  much  in  each  other's  society,  walking  arm 
in  arm  within  the  extent  of  the  enclosure  surround- 
ing the  Richards  mansion.  These  ladies  planned 
and  discussed  many  substantial  philanthropies  in 
this  sylvan  retreat.  They  were  thus  sauntering 
87 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

among  the  grateful  shade  of  the  spreading  trees, 
when  Rev.  St.  Clair  joined  them,  holding  a  letter 
and  some  documents  of  a  legal-looking  charac- 
ter. 

"Please  be  seated  by  me,"  dropping  upon  a  rus- 
tic bench,  "and  tell  me  what  this  means,"  handing 
the  letter  to  his  wife.  "No,  remain  with  us,  Mrs. 
Eldridge,"  he  added  to  the  lady,  who  was  moving 
away;  "you  are  interested  in  the  contents  of  this 
strange  communication.  Perhaps  you  can  make  it 
out.  I  can't." 

"Why,  a  letter  from  Mr.  Reynolds!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  St.  Clair,  rapturously. 

Were  the  eyes  of  the  minister  mistaken,  or  did 
Mrs.  Eldridge  start  and  turn  pale?  Why  steady 
herself  against  the  tree? 

"Really,  what  does  it  mean?"  continued  the 
lady,  who  had  already  gone  through  its  brief  con- 
tents in  pure  womanly  fashion,  getting  that  ex- 
clusively feminine  pleasure  in  perusing  it  by  her- 
self first. 

"Please  read  it  aloud,"  said  her  husband. 
"Won't  you  be  seated,  Mrs.  Eldridge?"  addressing 
the  lady,  who  was  still  standing. 

"No,  thank  you,"  replied  Alice. 

"Well,  it  is  just  like  him,"  vouchsafed  the 
reader,  approvingly. 

"Read  it  aloud,  dear,"  directed  Rev.  St.  Clair. 
"Mrs.  Eldridge  is  interested." 
88 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"LONDON,  August  6,  1857. 

"Rev.  Arthur  St.  Clair, 

"Philadelphia,  Pa. 

"My  Dear  Sir  and  Friend: — You  will  find  en- 
closed two  deeds  of  the  premises  which  you  oc- 
cupy ;  one  in  favor  of  Madge  Eldridge,  to  be  pre- 
sented the  young  lady  upon  her  eighteenth  birth- 
day. I  trust  you  will  use  your  best  endeavors  to 
remove  any  opposition  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  El- 
dridge, providing  she  interposes  any  objection,  to 
the  arrangement.  I  hope  you  will  remain  in  pos- 
session until  the  time  designated  by  the  deed.  In 
event  of  failure  to  obtain  consent  of  Mrs.  Eldridge 
to  the  transfer,  or,  upon  the  death  of  Madge,  as 
you  will  observe  by  the  terms  of  the  deed,  the 
property  reverts  to  yourself  and  estimable  wife,  in 
which  case  you  will  destroy  such  deed,  and  accept 
and  record  the  second  one.  I  shall  never  visit 
America  again.  My  life-work  and  interests  are 
inseparably  woven  with  London.  I  shall  feel  bet- 
ter knowing  that  the  home  where  my  boyhood  days 
were  passed,  and  where  my  parents  lived  and  died, 
is  not  in  the  hands  of  absolute  strangers.  When 
convenient,  I  shall  expect  to  hear  the  decision  of 
Mrs.  Eldridge.  Please  remember  me  kindly  to 
Mrs.  St.  Clair. 

"Yours  truly, 

"EDWARD  REYNOLDS." 
89 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Poor  Reynolds!"  A  more  jealous  man  would 
have  taken  umbrage  at  the  tone  in  which  "Poor 
Reynolds"  was  more  sighed  thar  whispered.  Mrs. 
Eldridge  walked  abruptly  away  after  hearing  the 
letter  read. 

"Well,  you  have  done  it,"  said  the  reverend 
gentleman  reprovingly. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  faltered  his  wife. 

"Offended  one  of  our  dearest  friends,"  forget- 
ting that  he  had  directed  the  missile,  and,  man 
fashion,  ready  to  visit  upon  his  better-half  the 
blunder  he  had  caused  her  to  commit. 

Mrs.  Eldridge  sought  the  banks  of  a  miniature 
lake,  whence  she  heard  the  voices  of  children.  She 
was  weak  this  beautiful  autumnal  day,  and  the 
presence  of  her  child  would  strengthen  her,  would 
drive  away  the  indefinable  something  that  filled  her 
breast — the  vague  something,  half  fear,  half  long- 
ing. Somehow  the  pain  in  the  face  she  had  seen 
long  ago  had  fastened  like  a  blight  upon  her 
heart,  and,  perhaps, — but  she  had  never  been  dis- 
loyal to  her  husband  in  thought  or  deed.  Still, 
despite  it  all,  there  were  moments  during  her  mar- 
ried life  when  hidden  thoughts  at  which  her  virtu- 
ous soul  shuddered  as  at  sin  would  burst  like  a 
flashlight  upon  her  privacy.  Her  husband  loved 
and  was  devoted  to  her.  If  the  early  frost  of  his 
winters  fell  upon  the  springtime  of  her  life,  it  had 
made  no  ravages.  She  honored,  revered,  loved 
90 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

her  husband ;  but,  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  concealed 
in  its  darkest  recesses,  was  a  secret  grave.  It  wor- 
ried, vexed  her.  It  was  faithlessness — a  sort  of 
infidelity  of  the  soul,  at  which  her  wifely  instinct 
revolted.  She  felt  some  culprit  thing,  and  yet, 
she  loved  her  husband.  Madge  was  born,  and  the 
lone  mound  in  her  heart  became  more  obscure. 
Maternity  smooths  and  softens  the  rugged  places 
in  a  woman's  life.  The  little  spark  of  life  brings 
an  incense  of  peace  to  the  altar  of  our  homes. 
Then  followed  the  sudden  death  of  Mr.  Eldridge. 
Killed  in  a  railroad  accident,  mangled,  crushed  be- 
yond recognition,  they  had  not  allowed  her  to 
see  her  dead  husband.  She  sincerely  mourned  his 
death  and  cherished  his  memory. 

Mrs.  St.  Clair  found  her  friend  standing  by  the 
edge  of  the  water,  with  an  arm  thrown  over  her 
daughter's  shoulder.  A  few  feet  distant  in  the 
rear  the  boy  stood  silently  watching  them.  Mother 
and  child  had  long  ago  become  a  necessity  to  each 
other.  By  that  keen  intuition  which  children  pos- 
sess, Madge  knew  her  mother  was  suffering,  and 
clung  closer  to  her  parent's  side,  pressing  her 
mother's  hand  in  infantile  sympathy.  It  was  a 
pretty  picture.  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  still  a  girl  in 
freshness.  Her  sorrow  had  left,  if  anything,  an 
exquisite  sensitiveness  upon  her  face,  rarely  beauti- 
ful. 

"Mamma,  why  does  you  stand  here  so  still  and 
91 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

so  long?  You  frighten  me."  The  child  was  al- 
most sobbing.  She  dipped  her  little  hands  into  her 
mother's  dress  and  tried  to  draw  her  away.  For 
answer,  the  woman  caught  her  daughter  to  her 
bosom,  covering  her  little  cherub  face  with  passion- 
ate kisses. 

"Oh!  here  you  are.  I  have  been  looking  every- 
where for  you.  Rev.  St.  Clair  fancies  he  affronted 
you  by  his  clumsiness.  You  are  not  angry  with 
us,  are  you,  Alice?  We  are  innocent,  we  did  not 
know  you  would  be  displeased,"  pleaded  the  little 
mediator. 

"I  come  to  seek  the  children.  Your  husband 
did  nothing — but  why  should  he  dare  do  this?" 
she  exclaimed,  vehemently. 

"Why  should  he  dare?"  repeated  Mrs.  St.  Clair, 
looking  her  interrogator  searchingly  in  the  eyes, 
"do  you  not  know?" 

"No,  I  can  assign  no  reason  for  this  insult," 
turning  her  face  from  the  other's  questioning 
gaze. 

"Shall  I  teU  you?" 

There  was  no  reply. 

"Shall  I  teU  you?"  repeated  Mrs.  St.  Clair,  reso- 
lutely. The  words  were  deliberate,  insinuating. 

"No,  it  matters  nothing  to  me." 

"Alice,  it  does — it  does.  You  ruined  his  life. 
He  loved  you ;  loves  you  still. .  Make  this  amend ; 
let  your  child  accept  the  home  of  his  ancestors. 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Never !" 

"Never?  Have  a  care,  Alice.  You  love  Edward 
Reynolds.  I  saw  it  as  we  stood  together  in  his 
room — the  room,  waiting  all  these  years  for  his 
home  coming.  Oh,  Alice,  when  my  husband's  step 
on  the  stairs  startled  you,  I  saw  a  fear  in  your 
eyes  which  said,  'What  if  he  come  and  find  me 
here.'  Oh,  if  he  could  see  you  now,  so  much  more 
beautiful,  lovelier  than  ever!  Darling,  for  the 
peace  and  happiness  of  you  both,  let's  try  bring 
him  home." 

Mrs.  St.  Clair  had  stuck  to  her  text  as  tena- 
ciously as  her  worthy  husband  clung  to  his  of  a 
Sunday  morning,  heedless  of  consequences. 

"Come,  Madge,  and  Clarence,  we  shall  be  late 
home."  Alice  took  no  notice  of  the  woman  plead- 
ing before  her.  Her  chance  for  happiness  was 
flitting  from  her.  She  and  the  children  had  gone 
some  paces,  when  a  light  footstep  was  heard  by  her 
side. 

"Alice."     There  was  no  response. 

"Alice,"  whispered  the  minister's  wife  close  to 
the  other  woman's  ear,  "God  pity  you — God  pity 
him!" 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"I  wonder  what  Lord  Howe  wants,"  mused  a 
man  of  some  twenty-seven  or  twenty-eight  years  of 
age,  still  holding  a  card  with  armorial  decorations 
that  had  a  moment  before  been  brought  him  by 
his  servant.  Men  who  see  but  little  of  their 
kind  in  a  social  way,  drop,  as  it  were,  for 
company's  sake,  into  the  habit  of  soliloquizing. 
The  suite  of  rooms  occupied  by  the  individual 
about  to  be  reintroduced  was  not  of  a  striking 
character.  The  apartments,  save  for  being  large 
and  commodious,  and,  aside  from  having  thou- 
sands of  volumes  of  books  distributed  systematical- 
ly along  the  undecorated  walls,  had  nothing  to 
recommend  a  passing  notice.  The  furniture,  rugs, 
carpets,  and  such  few  pieces  of  statuary  and  paint- 
ings as  the  proprietor  possessed  were  of  a  modest 
and  unassuming  variety.  Still,  there  was  an  air 
of  tidiness  and  refinement  pervading  the  entire 
establishment  seldom  witnessed  where  these  qual- 
ities depend  wholly,  or  in  a  large  part,  upon  the 
masculine  sex. 

The  occupant  of  these  quarters  was  fully  six 
feet  in  height,  straight  as  an  arrow,  one  hundred 
and  seventy  pounds  of  bones,  thews  and  sinews, 
94 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

distributed  as  we  see  in  athletes ;  firm  hands,  white 
and  flexible,  showed  that,  when  once  an  object  was 
within  their  grasp,  it  was  never  released,  until  it 
served  the  pleasure  of  their  owner.  A  palmist 
would  have  dropped  those  hands,  fearing  that  they 
might  close,  to  have  picked  them  up  again.  No 
department  of  science  throws  away  a  chance,  be- 
cause of  peril,  to  explore  the  unusual  and  extraor- 
dinary. How  many  men  have  penetrated  jun- 
gles, inhabited  by  wild  beasts  and  infested  with 
reptiles,  to  secure  a  knowledge  of  some  trifling 
plant  to  add  to  their  botanical  tree.  Prudence 
dictates  flight;  curiosity  lingers.  The  progress  of 
the  human  race  has  given  more  scars  and  death 
than  all  else  combined.  Take  me  to  a  place  where 
man  has  taken  one  step  in  advance,  and,  by  lifting 
the  foot,  we  shall  extract  a  thorn.  All  the  fruit, 
ripening  on  the  tree  of  knowledge,  was  not  gath- 
ered by  Eve. 

"I  wonder  what  Lord  Howe  wants." 
We  have  seen  the  athletic  frame  and  vigorous 
hands,  let  us  pause  a  moment  with  the  face;  his 
was  neither  handsome  nor  homely.  A  massive,  rug- 
ged head,  well  poised  upon  a  neck,  white  and  sym- 
metrical. Different  men  would  have  looked  at  it 
differently.  To  some  it  was  passive,  emotionless, 
commonplace — to  others,  a  revelation;  but,  to  all, 
alike,  it  possessed  intelligence — character.  A  cas- 
ual glance,  the  extreme  ordinary;  a  studied  view, 
95 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

true  nobility.  Such  mastery  of  self,  as  we  some- 
times see  in  those  who  have  taken  vows  of  renun- 
ciation. Has  it  ever  been  your  privilege  to  observe 
two  sets  of  lips,  exactly  alike  in  repose,  separating 
in  appearance,  as  the  smile  plays  and  flashes  upon 
them?  Has  it  ever  been  your  privilege  to  see  eyes, 
the  same  in  size,  in  color,  ornamented  by  the  same 
brows,  become  strangers,  as  thoughts  of  coarseness 
fire  the  one,  and  the  refined,  lofty  soul  beams  in 
the  other?  All  resemblance  vanishes,  as  by  magic. 
The  expression  of  a  face  is  its  own  mystery.  And, 
while  this  man's  eyes  and  lips,  passingly  observed, 
had  much  in  common  with  the  great  mass  of  hu- 
manity, a  closer  view  invested  them  with  new  at- 
tributes. The  man  was  powerful,  and  sanguine  of 
his  power.  There  was  courage,  strength,  resolu- 
tion in  the  eyes  and  lips,  fortified  by  a  chin,  a 
trifle  too  large,  perhaps,  measured  by  the  criterion 
of  sestheticism.  We  see  faces  with  stories  in  them; 
tragedies,  some;  comedies,  some.  The  story  of 
this  face  was  its  own  secret,  hidden  well  from  the 
prying  eyes  of  the  world.  It  was  more  attractive, 
fascinating,  for  the  very  reason  of  the  guarded 
seclusion  of  its  own  past.  As  you  confronted  the 
clear  gaze  of  those  eyes,  you  saw  in  them  truth, 
fidelity  of  purpose,  steadfastness — the  dross  of  life 
well  extinguished ;  and,  yet,  their  fathomless  depths 
revealed  a  pathos,  a  sadness  that  seemed  to  com- 
municate to  every  feature  so  full  of  sympathy, 
96 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

encouragement  and  tenderness.  Such  a  face  to  a 
man  in  need  of  a  friend  is  at  a  premium.  There 
are  moments  in  our  lives  when  we  search  among  our 
acquaintances,  too  often  in  vain,  for  a  face  like 
his.  This  man,  though  young,  knew  human  nature 
well,  and  reliant  upon  his  own  strength,  he  en- 
countered life's  problems  fearlessly.  If  he  suf- 
fered, he  made  no  complaint.  If  he  had  failed  in 
some  great  purpose  of  life — lost  a  battle,  the  fact 
that  it  was  closely  locked  in  his  own  bosom  was  a 
victory.  If  he  now  stood  like  a  granite  boulder 
before  some  inflexible  resolve,  that  should  dominate 
his  future,  there  was  no  ostentation,  no  boast.  He 
was  alike  indifferent  to  the  praise  and  to  the  con- 
demnation of  man.  It  is  easier  to  imagine  a  faith- 
ful picture  of  Edward  Reynolds  after  looking  at 
the  brow,  high  and  noble,  covered  with  a  skin  white 
and  delicate  as  a  woman's,  which  years  of  travel 
amid  the  arid  sands  and  blinding  heat  of  India  had 
not  spoiled.  Thick  hair  of  a  dark  brown  color, 
among  which  threads  of  silver  were  beginning  to 
mingle,  clung  in  close  waves  at  the  temples. 
The  most  striking  feature  were  those  eyes,  large 
and  expressive,  penetrating  yet  inscrutable.  You 
could  have  told  as  much  of  them  by  seeing  a  photo- 
graph. One  would  have  said  gray  predominated; 
another,  blue;  while  a  third  would  have  declared 
that  they  were  neither  gray  nor  blue,  but  a  shade 
of  the  night  time  with  a  flash  of  the  storm  in  them. 
97 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Yet,  all  that  had  seen  him  at  the  beginning  of  his 
work,  ridiculed,  burlesqued,  opposed,  but  never 
thwarted  by  opposition,  admitted  those  eyes  would 
light  with  the  fire  of  a  passionate  soul  and  burn 
into  the  memory  in  the  same  degree  that  the 
embers  back  of  them  consumed  their  possessor. 
Still,  Edward  Reynolds  was  not  a  fanatic.  That 
which  he  did  was  done  because  it  yielded  the  great- 
est measure  of  happiness.  Nor  was  he  a  theorist, 
but  practical  to  the  extreme.  Whatever  his  life 
contained,  to  whatever  fields  he  had  brought  his 
burdens,  and  struggled  to  cast  them  from  him; 
however  little  or  however  much  the  future  held, 
cast  no  shadow  upon  that  brow,  but  the  quiet  pur- 
pose of  his  life,  self-imposed  tasks,  reflected  there 
the  image  of  some  god. 

His  must  have  been  a  tremendous  correspond- 
ence, in  a  sense,  conglomerate  correspondence. 
Letters  from  the  nobility,  from  the  middle  classes, 
from  the  wretched  pauper  element,  daintily  per- 
fumed letters  from  aristocratic  ladies,  full  of  the 
insinuating  suggestiveness  of  love;  letters  reeking 
from  the  miasma  of  dens  of  infamy.  One  by  one 
he  read  them,  betraying  not  the  slightest  emotion 
at  whatever  shape  the  contents  assumed.  This  cor- 
respondence, these  variegated  letters,  formed  a  part 
of  his  life,  a  life  voluntarily  chosen,  and  surprise 
at  weakness  or  astonishment  at  degradation,  had 
long  since  ceased  to  produce  stupefaction.  Mis- 
98 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

anthropists  at  the  age  of  fifty  had  his  knowledge 
of  human  nature.  At  eight  and  twenty  this  man 
was  a  philanthropist. 

Lord  Howe  was  announced  and  Edward  Reyn- 
olds rose  from  his  desk,  advancing  to  meet  him. 

"I  trust  that  I  am  not  intruding  upon  one 
of  your  busy  days,"  remarked  his  lordship. 

"One  day  with  another,"  replied  the  younger 
man,  "there  is  little  difference  in  the  routine 
of  my  work.  Your  Lordship  is  always  welcome. 
What,  particularly,  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Well,"  replied  the  nobleman,  "I  am  going  to 
ask  a  great  deal.  I  come  to  go  through  the  in- 
stitution. If  young  men  take  an  interest  in  these 
reforms,  what  prevents  older  ones?  I  don't  rely 
much  on  paper  talk  and  I  always  make  a 
practice,  when  I  want  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  a 
thing,  to  dig  down  to  the  roots."  The  fact  that 
Lord  Howe  had  taken  interest  in  the  affairs  of 
Edward  Reynolds,  or,  in  projects  in  which  the 
latter  was  concerned,  was  by  no  means  agreeable 
information  to  the  younger  man.  Still,  the  in- 
quiry of  the  nobleman  seemed  to  be  made  in  good 
faith,  and  as  the  young  man  conducted  his  visitor 
through  one  of  the  most  unique  colleges  that  had 
ever  been  founded  in  England,  a  pardonable  pride 
diffused  itself  in  glowing  colors  upon  the  cheeks 
of  the  promoter.  The  old  nobleman  was  a  keen  ob- 
server and  gave  close  attention  to  details,  as  they 
99 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

were  pointed  out  to  him.  Room  after  room  was 
reviewed,  and  the  hundreds  of  boys  and  girls, 
who  were  being  cared  for  and  educated  at  the  ex- 
pense of  Edward  Reynolds,  feasted  their  eyes  rev- 
erently upon  him  as  long  as  he  remained  in  their 
presence.  Lord  Howe  had  inspected  a  great  num- 
ber of  public  institutions  of  learning,  in  short,  had 
always  manifested  genuine  interest  in  everything 
connected  with  the  subject.  But  he  was  forced  to 
admit  that  he  had  never  before  seen  such  close  ap- 
plication to  study  as  given  by  these  unfortunate 
children,  that  had  been  picked  up  off  the  street 
and  placed  in  a  free  school.  There  were  several 
grades,  besides  a  night  school  for  the  larger  ones, 
whose  employment  prevented  attendance  during 
the  day. 

"How  many  children  are  there  in  the  school?" 
"About  four  hundred  in  the  three  departments." 
"I  understand  that  you  have  been  very  success- 
ful in  finding  situations  for  those  who  have  com- 
pleted their  studies." 

"It  is  true,  we  have  been  very  fortunate  in  this 
respect.  We  aim  to  prepare  our  young  people 
with  practical  knowledge.  Such  branches  as  we 
teach  are  taught  thoroughly." 

"May  I  inquire  in  how  many  cases  your  scholars 
have  proved  unworthy  of  their  employer's  con- 
fidence?" 

"There  were  four  instances  last  year  that  came 
100 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

to  my  notice.     But  the  percentage  is  smaller  than 
one  might  have  reason  to  expect." 

"What  became  of  the  young  people  to  whom 
you  refer,  as  having  betrayed  their  trust?" 

Edward  Reynolds  remained  silent  for  a  moment 
and  then  answered  slowly,  "I  brought  them  back 
here  and  finally  found  other  employment.  I  gave 
my  individual  bond  for  their  fidelity." 

"Do  you  anticipate  any  trouble  with  them  in  the 
future?" 

"None,  whatever." 

"My  dear  sir,  don't  you  expect  to  incur  liability 
upon  your  bonds?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"Do  I  understand  you  to  say,"  continued  Lord 
Howe,  scanning  the  young  man's  features  critical- 
ly, "that  you  apprehend  no  trouble  in  the  future 
upon  those  bonds,  given  for  the  performance  of 
faithful  service  on  behalf  of  young  people 
previously  detected  in  the  betrayal  of  confi- 
dence?" 

"I  do  not." 

"It   is  very  remarkable." 

"Lord  Howe,"  said  Reynolds,  "one  of  those 
young  men  to-day  holds  a  very  responsible  posi- 
tion, and  there  is  not  one  of  the  number,  but  would 
be  roasted  alive,  before  committing  an  act  unbe- 
coming a  gentleman,  or  touching  one  penny  with 
thoughts  of  converting  it  to  his  own  use." 
101 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"It  is  remarkable,"  repeated  Lord  Howe.  "It  is 
incredible,"  he  continued,  "that  you  pick  up  the 
scum,  the  refuse,  the  dregs  of  London,  and  make 
reputable  men  and  women  of  them." 

"I  mean  nothing  of  the  kind."  It  was  said 
rapidly  as  one  who  delivers  himself  from  a  false 
imputation.  "What  I  mean  to  say  is  this,  that 
these  boys  and  girls  come  to  me  as  their  friend. 
I  have  won  a  reputation  among  them  for  fairness ; 
they  trust  me  and  I  trust  them.  The  distinction 
of  birth,  my  Lord,  is  given  far  greater  significance 
than  it  deserves.  The  boy,  that  ventures  upon 
the  great  thoroughfares  of  London  barefooted  and 
in  rags  searching  the  length  of  the  street  in  either 
direction  in  terror  of  the  police,  is  not  such  a 
bad  boy  at  heart  as  the  people  generally  believe. 
He  is  like  all  other  boys.  Once  placed  among  in- 
viting and  pleasant  surroundings  and  given  a 
chance  for  his  life,  is  all  he  needs.  In  this  I  have 
been  somewhat  instrumental;  God  does  the  rest. 
My  Lord,  permit  me  to  ask  candidly,  would  it  be 
progression  or  retrogression,  if  the  pauper  urchins 
of  London  were  placed  in  the  pampered  homes  of 
aristocracy,  and  the  favored  children  of  the  nobil- 
ity cast  adrift  upon  the  streets  of  the  city? 
Should  you  expect  any  appreciable  improvement 
by  the  innovation?  Are  you  not  prepared  to 
accept  nearly  the  same  condition  as  exists  to- 
day?" 

102 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"The  substitution  might  be  disappointing,"  ad- 
mitted his  lordship. 

"The  trouble  of  the  present  system,  not  only  of 
London,  but  of  all  large  cities,  is  that  every  man's 
time  is  so  entirely  filled  with  his  own  affairs  that 
there  is  no  leisure  to  bestow  a  passing  thought  upon 
the  needs  of  the  wretched  objects,  universally  ac- 
cepted to  be  bad  and  incorrigible.  Vigilant  police 
regulation  by  the  authorities  is  demanded  by  all 
as  the  only  requisite.  The  church  has  long  ceased 
to  meditate  upon  these  victims  of  misfortune ;  while 
charitable  organizations  are  engrossed  with  mat- 
ters of  larger  moment.  Consequently  among  all 
the  various  means  employed  for  the  improvement 
of  wretched  humanity,  the  street  gamin  continues 
half  famished,  less  than  half  clothed,  and  in  an 
unhealthy  moral  and  physical  atmosphere,  ne- 
glected and  abandoned  by  all  alike." 

His  lordship  scratched  his  head  dubiously.  He 
knew  men  of  all  conditions  well,  but,  boys  and 
girls — and  there  were  boys  and  girls  galore — 
really,  the  subject  never  occurred  to  him  before 
that  he  remembered.  Still,  he  must  have  supposed 
that  there  were  places,  proper  and  commodious 
places,  for  this  miserable  element  of  society. 

Lord  Howe  was  no  exception.  Men  of  all  de- 
gree, professors,  ministers  of  the  gospel,  business 
men,  churchmen,  and  laymen  tumble  over  this 
nondescript  atom  of  humanity,  without  casting  one 
103  * 


glance  backward  to  ascertain  the  extent  of  injuries 
inflicted. 

Men  of  all  degree?  This  is  a  mistake.  There  is 
one  class  of  men  that  has  found  both  the  boy  and 
the  girl,  that  goes  among  them,  fraternizes  with 
them  unmolested,  selecting  the  brightest  and  the 
best  to  be  privately  instructed  by  old  malefactors 
and  criminals  in  schools  of  infamy  and  vice. 

"How  many  are  four  times  four?"  inquired 
Lord  Howe,  running  his  fingers  through  the  bushy 
hair  of  a  little  shaver  sitting  on  a  bench  by  which 
the  nobleman  was  standing. 

The  boy  thus  addressed  grinned  superciliously 
and  looked  at  the  master  inquiringly. 

"You  may  answer  the  gentleman,"  remarked  the 
teacher. 

"Sixteen,  sir." 

"And  eight  times  eight?" 

"Sixty-four." 

"That's  right,"  said  his  lordship.  "What  do 
you  do,  sir?"  asked  the  nobleman  of  another  boy, 
"when  you  are  not  in  school?" 

Before  replying,  the  boy  glanced  at  the  master 
who  nodded  assent. 

"Sell  papers  and  shine  boots,  sir,"  said  he 
proudly. 

As  a  result  of  the  afternoon's  investigation, 
Lord  Howe  took  his  departure  with  a  better  under- 
standing of  the  character  of  little  folk  than  he 
104 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

haa  ever  possessed,  and  with  an  exalted  opinion 
of  the  young  man,  who  had  taken  up  for  his  life 
work,  labors,  which,  if  the  world  fails  to  ap- 
preciate, it,  at  least,  removes  all  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  competition. 

Edward  Reynolds,  without  coveting  it,  was 
stepping  boldly  into  public  gaze.  His  work  was 
becoming  felt  and  appreciated,  not  only  in  London 
and  England,  but  over  the  civilized  world.  There 
was  nothing  original,  nothing  brilliant,  in  what 
he  had  done,  no  bid  for  fame  or  popularity.  The 
field  was  unoccupied,  he  filled  it.  Statistics  dur- 
ing the  last  three  years  showed  an  appreciable  de- 
crease in  crime.  Youthful  offenders  were  becom- 
ing a  thing  of  the  past.  The  authorities  placed 
the  credit  where  it  belonged;  people  discussed  the 
young  American,  who  had  come,  uninvited,  among 
them,  in  most  flattering  and  complimentary  terms. 
Parliament  went  so  far  as  to  ask  for  a  large  ap- 
propriation, which  was  promptly  declined  by  the 
one  for  whom  it  was  intended.  The  committee  of 
that  august  body,  waiting  upon  Edward  Reynolds, 
were  dumbfounded.  It  was  the  first  instance  of 
the  kind  on  record.  It  was  a  strange  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  favors  of  that  great  body  of 
legislators.  Lord  Howe,  who  had  been  prominent 
in  securing  the  measure,  was,  at  first,  piqued,  then 
mystified  by  the  obstinacy  of  this  individual.  The 
committee  reported  that  Edward  Reynolds  had  sub- 
105 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

mitted  the  statement  to  them,  in  effect,  that  the  ex- 
penses in  every  instance,  where  his  graduates  had 
secured  employment,  were  refunded  by  setting 
aside  a  small  portion  of  their  salaries ;  that  he  con- 
sidered it  better  for  his  proteges  that  the  present 
arrangement  continue;  that,  if  it  should  become 
expedient  or  necessary  to  adopt  a  different  course, 
his  individual  means  were  adequate  for  such  ex- 
ceptions; that,  while  he  thanked  them  for  their 
proffered  assistance,  he  felt  obliged  to  dispense 
with  it.  Lord  Howe  made  a  personal  visit  to  urge 
upon  the  young  man  a  reconsideration  of  his  de- 
cision without  the  desired  result. 

The  intimacy  between  these  two  men,  regardless 
of  the  discrepancy  of  years,  ripened  into  mutual 
friendship.  The  old  gentleman  experienced  a  gen- 
uine regard  and  admiration  for  Edward  and  made 
no  secret  of  his  preference.  The  latter  received 
much  profit  from  the  views  of  the  old  nobleman, 
picking  up  a  clearer  insight  into  the  questions  of 
the  day,  which,  while  not  of  political  advantage 
on  account  of  his  being  an  alien,  became  valuable 
as  a  constant  source  of  agreeable  thought  and  in- 
vestigation. 


106 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XII. 

At  the  close  of  one  of  these  evening  visits,  near 
the  end  of  November,  1859,  the  young  man  rose 
from  his  desk,  stretched  his  limbs,  and,  going 
to  the  window,  stood  in  the  current  of  frosty  air 
driving  against  and  past  him  into  the  room.  The 
wind  caught  the  dark  heavy  curls  and  lifted  them 
from  his  forehead,  to  be  dashed  back  again  in 
greater  dishevelment.  Notwithstanding  the  ex- 
cess of  vitality  in  the  movements  of  the  man  upon 
approaching  the  window,  as  he  stands  gazing 
without,  neither  looking  at  the  brilliant  lights  flash- 
ing from  shop  windows,  nor  at  the  vaulted  sky,  an 
air  of  dejection,  despondency,  weariness  of  soul 
and  body  seemed  to  invest  his  person,  even  with  the 
shivering  vapor  that  puffed  through  the  window 
upon  his  mobile  face.  The  pendulum  of  a  large 
chronometer  ticked  off  the  minutes.  Still,  he  stood 
staring  out  into  the  brightness  of  the  windows — 
into  the  darkness  of  the  sky,  heedless  of  the  one 
as  of  the  other.  The  great  pendulum  continued  to 
swing  to  and  fro,  counting  out  its  measures  of  time 
in  deep  monotone.  The  hour  hand,  slowly  revolv- 
ing upon  the  dial,  seemed  to  point  toward  the  silent 
figure,  as  it  points  unerringly  at  the  world  for  the 
107 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ruthless  waste  of  precious  hours.  Upon  the  stone 
pavement  below  a  ceaseless  stream  of  humanity 
surged  and  swayed,  while,  throwing  off  their  robes 
in  a  darker  sky,  the  stars  leaped  forth,  rivaling 
each  other  in  brilliancy.  But  the  man  was  oblivi- 
ous of  all.  He  neither  saw  nor  heard. 

A  small  object  turned  around  the  corner  some 
three  hundred  feet  away  and  dashed  among  the 
crowd.  The  object  was  a  boy.  The  rags  upon  his 
person  did  not  deserve  the  name  of  clothes. 

"Stop  thief!"  yelled  a  stentorian  voice  at  no 
great  distance  behind  the  little  culprit.  Hither 
and  thither  the  boy  glided,  holding  tightly  to  some 
small  brown  substance,  elusively  darting  beyond 
the  reach  of  outstretched  hands. 

"Stop  thief!"  bayed  the  human  bloodhound, 
close  in  his  rear.  The  boy  fell  over  someone's  foot, 
suddenly  thrust  out  to  trip  him;  but  in  a  moment 
he  had  crawled  under  the  feet  of  the  pedestrians 
to  the  edge  of  the  street,  still  clutching  the  brown 
object  securely,  and,  springing  forward  with 
a  bound,  he  started  away.  The  chase  became  ex- 
citing. Men  and  even  women  rushed  upon  the 
pavement  to  block  escape  of  the  little  fugitive  at 
great  personal  risk  of  being  injured  or  killed  by 
the  heavy  vehicles  constantly  passing  and  repass- 
ing. 

"Stop  thief!"  the  whole  throng  of  congested 
humanity  became  a  solid  mass  of  eager  palpitating 
108 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

flesh.  Merchants  ran  to  doors,  while  zealous 
clerks  joined  in  the  hunt.  Second  and  third  story 
windows  flew  open  and  mothers  and  sisters  looked 
eagerly  upon  the  commotion  below. 

"It  is  a  catamount !  The  flesh  has  been  torn  off 
my  hands  with  claws !"  a  voice  cried  in  agony. 
Then  there  fled  from  the  place  whence  the  alarm 
proceeded  the  little  half  clad  figure,  still  holding  to 
the  brown  object — it  was  a  loaf  of  bread.  There 
was  a  column  of  men  before,  at  the  right,  at  the 
left — and,  in  the  rear,  coming  nearer  and  nearer 
the  ceaseless  clamor  of  police.  The  boy  was 
at  bay;  his  firmly  closed  lips  emitted  no 
sound.  Instinct  told  him  that  every  man's  hand 
was  lifted  against  him.  His  flesh  was  quivering; 
sparks  of  fire  scintillated  from  his  eyes.  A  team- 
ster, more  reckless  than  his  comrades,  divided  the 
crowd  by  forcing  his  horses  among  the  people. 
Men  lifted  their  hands,  gesticulating  angrily  in 
remonstrance.  Women  hurled  imprecations  upon 
the  man  reining  the  horses.  The  hunted  animal, 
in  the  middle  of  that  group,  plunged  between  the 
legs  of  the  horses,  crept  rapidly  upon  his  hands 
and  knees  to  the  rear  of  the  heavy  truck,  and  be- 
fore the  motley  crowd  fully  recovered  from  the 
amazement  produced  by  the  daring  feat,  the  boy 
shot  from  among  the  wheels  as  from  a  catapult. 
But  the  giant  Hercules  mounted  on  top  of  the  load 
of  garbage,  swung  the  heavy  lash  above  his  head, 
109 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

whistling  in  its  evolutions  through  the  air,  and,  as 
the  boy  darted  away,  the  buckskin  descended  with 
a  sharp  report  upon  his  back,  the  knot  at  the  end 
of  the  thong  sinking  deep  into  his  flesh.  Another 
chance  for  liberty !  The  infuriated  crowd  yelled 
itself  hoarse  with  excitement. 

"Stop  thief !"  Thus  the  gathering  numbers  had 
been  cheated,  outwitted  at  the  finish. 

The  vast  concourse  jostled  one  another  as  the  ill- 
natured,  hilarious  assemblage  moved  off  in  the  di- 
rection taken  by  the  youth,  full  of  anticipation — 
expectancy,  while  the  baffled  policeman,  joined  by 
other  officers  attracted  to  the  vicinity  by  the  un- 
common disturbance,  renewed  pursuit  with  un- 
abated zeal.  The  momentary  advantage  gained  by 
the  difficult  and  perilous  exploit  of  the  lad  was  not 
to  avail.  An  inpenetrable  wall  of  humanity  sur- 
rounded the  terrified  child,  completely  barring 
further  progress.  Some  brute  struck  out  his  foot 
against  the  pit  of  the  boy's  stomach  viciously,  with 
such  perfect  aim  that  the  little  fellow  collapsed  in 
a  heap  upon  the  pavement.  The  next  moment  the 
perspiring  and  exasperated  minion  of  law  and 
order  pounced  upon  the  doubled  up  object  sav- 
agely. 

"Steal,  will  you !"  exclaimed  the  officer  in  hoarse 
gutterals. 

The  boy,  having  something  of  the  feline  instinct, 
and  able  to  fight  to  as  good  advantage  beneath  as 
110 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

on  top,  raked  the  officer's  hands  with  his  finger 
nails. 

"Oh !  you  will,  will  you !"  Hereupon  the  pomp- 
ous dignitary  of  the  law  reversed  the  end  of  the 
club  he  carried  and  began  to  rain  a  torrent  of 
blows  upon  the  head  of  the  malefactor,  puncturing 
the  scalp  with  every  descent  of  the  baton.  The 
boy  kicked  and  squirmed  beneath  the  ponderous 
weight  of  the  officer,  inflicting  no  little  damage 
upon  that  sacred  person. 

"D — n  him!  he  has  cat's  claws!"  hissed  the  offi- 
cer, applying  the  cudgel  upon  the  boy's  head  with 
increased  energy.  The  lad  crossed  his  arms  above 
his  head,  seeking  to  shelter  it  from  the  swift  as- 
sault of  blows.  The  policeman  caught  his  right 
hand  and  dexteriously  placing  the  wire  twisters 
upon  the  wrist,  gave  such  a  wrench  that  the  fine 
wire  cut  to  the  bone,  the  blood  spurting  from  the 
wound.  The  pain  was  excruciating,  but  there  was 
no  sound  from  the  boys  lips,  save  deep  and  rapid 
respiration.  If  he  were  vanquished,  he  did  not 
seem  to  realize  it.  It  was  useless  to  make  further 
resistence.  It  was  the  daze  and  pain,  perhaps,  but, 
at  any  rate,  as  the  muscular  arm  of  the  officer 
passed  the  face  of  the  lad,  the  latter,  with  a  sudden 
movement,  buried  his  teeth  in  the  muscles.  The 
crowd  yelled  with  delight.  Each  spectator  of  that 
demoralizing  scene  felt  rewarded  for  his  time  and 
pains  in  remaining  until  the  end.  The  deep  in- 
Ill 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

cision  made  by  those  small  teeth  drove  the  officer 
frantic.  He  was  not  used  to  brook  such  fierceness 
from  young  offenders.  His  violent  temper  ob- 
tained the  mastery  and  catching  the  handle  of  the 
club,  he  dealt  the  boy  a  sledge-hammer  blow  upon 
the  head  with  the  large  end  that  would  have  felled 
an  ox.  The  jaws  relaxed,  the  face  dipped  for- 
ward, the  body  of  the  boy  swung  around,  defining 
a  half  circle  suspended  in  the  air  by  the  wire 
fastened  to  the  wrist.  Then  the  officer  lowered  the 
hand  which  held  the  grippers  and  the  insensible 
form  stretched  out  upon  the  pavement.  The  crowd 
yelled  louder  than  ever  at  this  climacteric  and  con- 
cluding act  of  the  very  exciting  arrest.  The  first 
victim  of  the  boy's  finger-nails,  he  that  had  cried 
out,  "It  is  a  catamount,"  leaned  over  the  prostrate 
form  and  spat  upon  it. 

Edward  Reynolds,  standing  at  the  window 
above,  was  aroused  from  his  deep  abstraction  by 
the  unusual  commotion  upon  the  street.  His  eyes 
seemed  to  follow  mechanically  the  movements  of 
the  lad  from  the  time  the  latter  turned  the  corner 
until  the  arrest.  The  conduct  of  the  crowd  an- 
gered him,  still  he  gazed  upon  the  tumult  too  deep- 
ly preoccupied  in  revery  to  realize  the  full  force 
of  the  scene  enacted  before  him.  He  gave  a  con- 
vulsive shudder  upon  hearing  the  policeman's  club 
strike  the  boy's  head  and  saw  the  inanimate  form 
sink  to  the  stone  pavement.  In  an  instant,  he  was 
113 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

thoroughly  alert.  With  a  bound  he  reached  the 
door  and  descending  the  flight  of  steps,  forced  the 
spectators  apart  and  confronted  the  pompous 
custodian  of  the  club. 

"How  dare  you  strike  a  child  in  that  manner, 
you  brute!"  He  drew  his  clenched  fist  back,  the 
veins  bulging  out  upon  his  forehead  like  whip 
cords. 

"He's  a  thief,  sir,"  expostulated  the  disciple  of 
the  law,  eager  to  vindicate  himself,  not  knowing 
how  serious  the  injuries  were.  "See,  he  stole  this," 
taking  from  the  fingers  of  the  boy,  as  he  spoke, 
the  loaf  of  bread. 

"A  thief— a  loaf  of  bread !"  Oh,  the  unutter- 
able agony  of  that  voice! 

The  bystanders  pricked  up  their  ears. 
"How  much  must  I  pay  for  the  release  of  this 
unconscious  boy?" 

"Talk  with  the  baker,"  said  the  officer,  turning 
to  a  short,  heavily  built  man,  who,  all  out  of 
breath,  that  moment  arrived  upon  the  scene. 

"What  am  I  to  pay  to  settle  all  charges  against 
this  child?"  asked  Edward  Reynolds,  addressing 
the  vender  of  pastry. 

"What  business  is  it  of  your'n?"  demanded 
the  officer  gruffly,  recovering  some  of  his  assur- 
ance. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Reynolds  to  the  baker,  with- 
out noticing  the  previous  inquiry,  "this  boy  has,  I 
113 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

understand,  stolen  this  loaf  of  bread  from  your 
shop." 

"He  did,  sir;  helped  himself,  sir,  without  the 
formality  of  a  sale,"  answered  the  baker,  scenting 
a  compromise. 

"And  may  I  ask,"  continued  Reynolds,  "what 
the  damage  is?" 

"The  bread  was  a  penny,  sir;  but  society  has 
been  outraged,"  which  was  true  in  more  senses  than 
one. 

"Will  you  accept  this?"  tendering  the  trades- 
man several  pieces  of  silver,  "and  settle  with  the 
officer,  releasing  all  charges  against  the  boy?" 

"Do  you  mean  it  or  is  it  a  guy?"  said  the  mixer 
of  dough,  eying  the  coins  furtively. 

"I  am  in  earnest,"  replied  Edward  Reynolds, 
contemptuously. 

"Plank  down  the  collateral.  Eh!  What  say 
you?"  directing  the  inquiry  to  the  officer. 

"Clinch  the  bargain,"  said  that  dignitary,  "and 
cheap  riddance." 

The  tradesman  proffered  his  huge  fist  and  the 
coin  rattled  as  it  dropped  into  the  broad  palm. 

Then  Edward  Reynolds  bent  over  the  boy  and 
tenderly  lifted  him. 

"Hold  on,  sir,  a  moment,"  said  the  policeman, 
"until  I  take  off  the  nippers." 

Edward    Reynolds   bore    the   boy    through    the 
parting  crowd,  up  the  flight  of  steps  which  he  had 
114 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

recently  descended,  and  placed  his  burden  upon  a 
couch.  He  felt  of  the  boy's  pulse,  fetched  a 
basin  of  tepid  water  and  a  sponge,  and  proceeded 
to  wash  the  blood  from  the  face  and  head,  band- 
aging the  lacerated  parts;  then  he  pried  open  the 
mouth  and  poured  some  spirits  between  the  teeth 
and  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the  cot.  He  had  not 
long  to  wait.  The  boy's  eyes  opened;  they  rested 
upon  the  man,  passed  to  the  windows,  the  door, 
and  back  again  to  the  face  of  the  man.  Then  he 
looked  at  the  basin  of  bloody  water  and  the  bloody 
sponge,  examined  the  clean  white  bandage  upon 
his  wrist,  felt  the  soft  cloth  upon  his  head,  gazed 
at  the  man  again,  then  at  the  unbarred  windows 
and  the  unguarded  door.  It  was  beyond  him — 
incomprehensible. 

"Well,  my  boy,  how  are  you  feeling?"  the  voice 
was  kind,  fatherly. 

The  boy  rose  bolt  upright.  "Oh,  my  mother!" 
The  incidents  of  the  past  hour  rushed  through 
the  boy's  mind.  He  recalled  the  bread,  the  strug- 
gle and  the  arrest.  He  imagined  himself  a 
prisoner  in  the  hospital,  where  his  wounds  had 
been  dressed.  The  kindly  faced  man  before  him 
was  the  surgeon  of  the  prison. 

"You  stole  that  bread  for  someone;  who  is  it?" 
The  boy  surveyed  the  man,  the  room,  the  furni- 
ture, the  windows,  the  door. 

"You  are  not  in  custody,"   continued  Edward 
115 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

Reynolds,  divining  the  thoughts  in  the  youth's 
mind. 

The  lad  placed  his  fingers  upon  his  sore  head, 
looked  upon  the  bandaged  wound  about  his  wrist — 
he  was  trying  to  satisfy  himself  whether  he  were 
dreaming  or  in  possession  of  his  faculties. 

"For  whom  did  you  steal  that  bread? — not  for 
yourself?"  pointing  at  what  remained  of  the  loaf. 

"My  mother." 

"Is  she  in  the  city?" 

"Yes,  sick  and  starving." 

"Let  us  go  to  her." 

"Are  you  a  detective?" 

"No." 

"A  police  surgeon?" 

"No." 

"I  am  not  under  arrest?" 

"No." 

"I  am  free  to  go?" 

"Yes." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"Your  friend.  I  am  going  home  with  you  as 
soon  as  you  feel  able  to  walk." 

Half  an  hour  later  a  man,  bundled  to  his  chin, 
carrying  a  basket  packed  with  bread,  wine  and 
meat,  accompanied  by  a  small  boy,  entered  a 
squalid  habitation  in  an  obscure  part  of  the  city. 

The  following  morning  a  boy  was  admitted  to 
the  office  of  Edward  Reynolds.  The  youth  ran 
116 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

and  fell  at  the  feet  of  his  benefactor  crying  inco- 
herently between  sobs,  "You  have  saved  my  moth- 
er's life — my  mother's  life !" 

An  hour  afterwards  Edward  Reynolds  was 
standing  in  the  same  window  at  which  he  stood  the 
evening  before;  but  the  far-away  look  had  faded 
from  his  eyes;  and,  if  not  happiness  in  that  face, 
peace,  content. 


117 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

The  following  forenoon  the  usual  amount  of  let- 
ters, periodicals,  and  papers  were  dumped  upon  the 
desk  of  Edward  Reynolds  by  the  postman,  whose 
habits  of  punctuality  and  noiselessness  earned  him 
many  a  shilling  in  excess  of  his  monthly  stipend. 

Edward  turned  to  these  when  there  was  a 
gentle  rap  at  the  door.  It  was  a  subdued  rap — 
one  of  those  inoffensive  raps  that  announces  to  the 
inmate  a  saintly  desire  not  to  disturb  any  one 
within — sort  of  an  apologizing-in-advance  an- 
nouncement, sometimes  heard  at  the  door — you 
have  all  heard  it — and  hurriedly  prepared  yourself 
for  an  encounter  of  some  sort,  much  as  the  naval 
officer  clears  the  deck  for  action  when  he  sees  the 
broad  sides  of  armored  vessels  swinging  leisurely 
around  to  get  better  command  of  his  frigate. 

"Come  in,"  said  the  proprietor  of  the  establish- 
ment. At  the  summons  in  walked  five  clerical 
gentlemen,  attired  in  ministerial  robes.  Five 
meeker-looking  men  could  not  have  been  found  in 
the  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain.  It  is  truly  a  pa- 
thetic sight  to  behold  such  serene  submissiveness 
depicted  upon  the  facial  lineaments  of  any  one 
man,  say  nothing  of  the  present  number.  There 
118 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

was  an  air  of  pious  resignation  pervading  the 
group,  singly  and  collectively,  that  would  have  ter- 
rorized the  most  hardened  criminal. 

"To  what,  gentlemen,  am  I  indebted  for  the 
honor  of  this  visit?"  This  was  asked  after  an  in- 
terval of  several  moments'  silence.  At  which  di- 
rect reference  to  the  nature  of  the  meeting  the  lu- 
gubrious expression  of  melancholy  deepened  upon 
their  faces,  while  one  or  two,  evidently  the  spokes- 
men of  the  number,  cleared  the  throat  to  explain 
the  object  of  their  presence. 

"We  are  members  of  a — a " 

"Committee,"  said  the  second  spokesman. 

"Yes,  sir,  'committee'  regularly  appointed  to — 
to " 

"Consult,"  prompted  the  brother. 

"To — to  confer,"  continued  the  speaker  with  a 
strong  accent  on  the  second  syllable,  glancing  at 
the  interrupting  offender  forgivingly,  "to  confer 
together  upon  a  matter  of  gravest  consequence  to 
the  established  Church  of  England." 

"I  have  received  no  notice  of  any  conference," 
said  Reynolds,  "and  am  at  an  utter  loss  to  account 
for  such — an  informality,"  the  word  he  had  in 
mind,  but  refrained  from  speaking,  being  "rude- 
ness." "I  am  not  in  excellent  favor  with  the 
church  at  present,  it  seems,  if  one  may  judge  by 
appearances." 

"We  regret  to  confirm  your  suspicions,"  re- 
119 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

marked  one  of  the  visitors  dolefully,  "but  we  hope 
the  present  meeting  may  be  fruitful  of  results 
which  shall  be  the  humble  means  of  your  submis- 
sion and  restoration  to  favor." 

The  speaker  was  sincere.  Reynolds  never  in- 
dulged levity  with  honest,  sincere  men.  Differ- 
ences of  opinion  extend  beyond  secular  affairs,  and, 
vy-hile  he  heartily  wished  the  reverend  gentlemen 
might  have  seen  their  duty  leading  past  his  door, 
he  resolved  to  get  out  of  his  present  dilemma  as 
gracefully  as  circumstances  would  permit. 

"Well,  my  friends,  I  suppose  you  are  come  to 
prefer  charges  against  me.  I  am  confident  we 
shall  arrive  at  a  better  understanding."  He  spoke 
cheerfully. 

"We  are  greatly  encouraged  by  our  reception," 
said  Mr.  Hardsides,  the  chairman  of  the  commit- 
tee; "some  of  our  brothers  feared  indigni- 
ties." 

"Indeed!"  an  arching  of  the  eyebrows.  "Oh, 
no,  hardly  that.  I  always  take  it  this  way,  if 
there  are  misunderstandings,  the  first  thing  to  do  is 
exactly  as  we  are  about  doing — see  if  there  is  not 
some  prospect  of  arranging  a  compromise  satis- 
factory to  all  parties  concerned,  and,  failing  to 
reconcile  the  dispute,  secondly  to  adopt  measures 
looking  toward  the  nearest  possible  agreement. 
Therefore,  gentlemen,  if  you  will  proceed  directly 
with  your  grievance,  we  shall  soon  know  if  our 
120 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

troubles  are  beyond  a  speedy  settlement."  His 
voice  was  resonant  with  conciliation. 

The  good  nature  of  Reynolds,  which,  even  those 
reverend  gentlemen  tacitly  admitted  to  themselves, 
was  somewhat  taxed  by  the  preliminary  inform- 
ality of  the  visitation,  disarmed  all  resentment; 
and  the  clergymen  commenced  business  without 
further  beating  of  the  bush,  a  trifle  more  predis- 
posed in  favor  of  the  apostate. 

"The  report  is  circulated  among  churchmen," 
began  Hardsides  in  a  more  natural  tone  of  voice, 
"that  the  religious  exercises  of  your  college  are 
extremely  irregular ;  that,  while  a  number  of  ency- 
clicals have  been  addressed  to  you  by  the  heads  of 
the  church,  directing  that  the  uncanonical  prac- 
tices be  discontinued,  you  persist  in  committing, 
not  only  the  old  offences,  but  fresh  ones."  There 
was  an  ecclesiastical  ring  in  his  voice. 

"I  am  afraid  there  has  been  some  slight  misrep- 
resentation," said  Reynolds. 

"Our  information  is  received  from  most  reliable 
sources,  from  gentlemen  of  unquestioned  veracity 
and  Christian  sentiment." 

"Possibly;  but,  gentlemen,  I  neither  doubt  the 
honesty  nor  motive  of  your  action.  In  fact,  I  am 
convinced  you,  and  those  whom  you  represent,  are 
actuated  by  most  laudable  incentives." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  more  than  one  voice  being 
heard.  They  spoke  rapidly.  Some  of  the  com- 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

mittee  were  already  beginning  to  think  that  the  re- 
ports derogatory  of  Edward  Reynolds  were  great- 
ly exaggerated.  He  was  such  an  agreeable  man. 

"And  therefore,"  continued  Reynolds,  "I  am 
grateful,  inasmuch  as  we  are  met  together,  for  this 
opportunity  of  setting  myself  right  once  more  in 
your  good  opinions." 

"It  is  only  human  to  err,"  said  one  of  the  com- 
mittee, who  had  not  volunteered  to  speak  before. 

"Yes,"  said  Reynolds,  "  'to  err  is  human,  to 
forgive,  divine.'  I  have  always  considered  it  un- 
fortunate for  man  or  woman  to  be  so  nearly  per- 
fect that  his  or  her  life  never  knew  the  pleasure  of 
being  forgiven ;  and,  my  friends,  if  we  get  through 
this  world  without  needing  this  divine  gift  of  for- 
giveness, there  is  little  to  our  credit  or  discredit. 
If  I  cannot  obtain  your  entire  approbation,"  he 
continued,  "as  I  trust  to  do,  you  will,  at  least,  be 
as  lenient  as  your  charitable  vocation  permits." 

"Indeed  we  shall,"  replied  Mr.  Hardsides,  the 
most  sanctified  individual  of  the  party,  taking  it 
for  granted  that  there  was  much  of  omission  and 
commission  to  be  pardoned. 

Feigning  not  to  notice  the  implied  pardoning 
powers  to  be  brought  into  direct  requisition,  Reyn- 
olds continued:  "First  on  the  program,  my  good 
friends,  let  me  offer  you  such  cheer  as  the  estab- 
lishment affords,  after  which  we  will  inspect  the 
premises,  when  I  shall  be  only  too  delighted  to 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

avail  myself  of  any  valuable  suggestions  you  may 
be  pleased  to  offer." 

Notwithstanding  the  favorable  opinion  many  of 
the  committee  had  formed  of  Reynolds,  since  com- 
ing in  personal  contact  with  him,  their  prejudices 
were  not  prepared  to  make  surrender  to  the  extent 
of  breaking  bread  with  the  reputed  heretic,  how- 
ever pleasantly  mannered  he  might  be.  There  are 
amenities  to  be  accepted,  and  amenities  to  be  re- 
j  ected. 

"We  must  not  trespass,"  commenced  Mr.  Hard- 
sides. 

"We  must  not  trespass,"  echoed  from  one  to  the 
other,  until  it  resembled  the  veritable  refrain  of 
reverberation. 

"We  must  not  trespass  upon  your  hospitality," 
repeated  Mr.  Hardsides,  "indeed  we  must  not.  Be- 
sides, sir,  I  fear  we — we  are  already  forgetting 
the — the "  he  disliked  to  recall  the  unpleas- 
antness of  this  visitation. 

"Well,  as  you  like,  my  friends;  only,  when  my 
visitors  are  to  my  liking  it  always  seems  more 
homelike  if  grace  is  said  before  parting.  Still, 
perhaps,"  contemplating  them  benignly,  "as  I  see 
in  some  of  your  kind  faces  'business  first — pleas- 
ure afterwards !" 

"Duty  is  our  mistress,"  said  Hardsides. 

"We  must  not  be  circumvented,"  whispered  one 
brother  to  another. 

123 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"His  manner  is  pleasant — even  fascinating," 
answered  the  brother  addressed,  soto  voce.  The 
last  speaker  was  younger  by  several  years  than  the 
other. 

"Be  not  deceived ;  Satan  has  a  fine  exterior,"  re- 
plied the  man  of  God  admonishingly. 

"Oh,  one  favor,  gentlemen — how  stupid  of  me, 
I  had  quite  forgotten !  Before  considering  my 
heterodoxy  further,  let  me  inquire  if  there  are  any 
among  you  unfamiliar  with  the  methods  of  educa- 
tional and  religious  training  of  the  college?"  No 
one  knew  better  than  the  questioner  that  not  a 
single  one  of  the  five  men  before  him  had  ever  con- 
descended to  investigate  the  school  which  he  had 
founded,  nor  to  have  been  present  at  any  of  his 
Sabbath  discourses. 

The  silence  following  this  innocent  inquiry  was 
finally  broken  by  the  somewhat  feeble  admission 
that  the  visitors  had  not  had  the  pleasure,  but 
hoped,  at  no  distant  day,  to  avail  themselves  of 
the  privilege  of  inspecting  the  institution. 

"Oh!"  replied  the  young  diplomat,  his  face 
seeming  to  brighten,  "I  know  how  busy  the  life  of 
a  clergyman  is — this  to  do,  that  to  look  after. 
And  still,  my  friends,  you  are  aware,  of  course, 
that  there  are  so-called  critics  of  the  minister  who 
profess  to  see  in  his  duties  and  labors  only  the  most 
indolent  and  agreeable  occupation.  Nor  is  this 
class  of  critics  confined  to  the  rabble  exclusively. 
124 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

There  are  men  whose  judgment  upon  most  sub- 
jects is  entitled  to  respect,  that  are  claiming  the 
clergyman's  life  as  one  of  ease  and  luxury.  I 
never  thought  so  much  about  it  as  I  have  since 
giving  my  Sunday  talks  to  the  boys  and  girls. 
You  see,  these  little  people  are  not  the  best-dressed, 
and  feel  a  shyness  in  going  to  church,  such  as  pre- 
sided over  by  yourselves,  for  instance,  contenting 
themselves  with  the  talks  I  give  them.  I  try  hard 
to  inculcate  morality  and  Christian  spirit.  I  felt 
unworthy  for  the  work  at  first;  but  I  was 
resolved  these  little  shavers  should  cultivate  habits 
of  attending  divine  service  Sundays.  If  the  habit 
is  formed  in  childhood,  it  becomes  a  life-long  prac- 
tice. Dear  me,  such  times  as  I  had!  I  tried  to 
engage  a  regularly  ordained  minister  to  preach. 
You  hardly  thought  this,  did  you,  gentlemen? 
Well,  I  did,  and  many  applicants,  attracted  by  the 
salary  I  offered,  paid  me  their  respects.  But  after 
examining  the  situation,  somehow  or  other  negoti- 
ations never  materialized.  Well,  candidly,  I  can 
hardly  blame  them  very  much.  There  is  a  good 
deal  uncanny  and  uninviting  in  the  prospect. 
Still,  as  I  told  you,  I  had  set  my  heart  on  the  mat- 
ter, and,  not  being  able  to  do  the  best  thing,  was 
by  no  means  discouraged  from  doing  the  next  best. 
It  was  sheer  force  of  circumstances  that  drove  me 
into  the  pulpit,  and  I  should  cheerfully  add  two 
hundred  pounds  per  annum  to  either  of  your  pres- 
125 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ent  salaries  as  an  inducement  to  relieve  me  of  evan- 
gelical responsibilities.  I  heartily  wish  I  could 
transfer  this  charge  to  clergymen  of  such  acknowl- 
edged accomplishments,"  bowing  significantly  to 
his  visitors.  The  proposition  remains  to  this  hour 
unaccepted. 

To  relieve  the  manifest  embarrassment  of  his 
callers,  the  obliging  host  remarked,  as  though  cor- 
recting an  oversight  of  his  own: 

"Oh,  what  folly  in  me  to  commit  myself  to  such 
a  proposition  without  first  having  shown  you  the 
advantages  and  disadvantages,  so  to  speak,  of  the 
appointment." 

Those  two  hundred  pounds  extra  might  have  ac- 
centuated the  desire  to  accompany  Edward  Reyn- 
olds ;  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  the  visitors  rose  with 
alacrity  and  followed  close  upon  the  heels  of  the 
individual  whom  they  had  come  to  threaten  with 
excommunication  unless  his  unregenerate  heart  re- 
pented. In  a  large,  cheerful  hall,  some  hundred 
small  children  were  gathered.  Perhaps  the  chil- 
dren were  not  so  well  dressed  as  it  had  been 
their  privilege  to  notice  upon  other  occasions ;  yet, 
the  appearance  of  the  young  assemblage  was  far 
from  being  repellent.  Each  little  face  was  clean 
and  hair  well  combed.  Perfect  order  and  decorum 
prevailed  in  the  apartment.  The  teacher  having 
the  children  in  charge  came  forward  to  welcome 
his  visitors,  and  took  such  excellent  pains  to  fix 
126 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

their  attention  upon  all  the  principal  features  of 
the  school  during  the  brief  absence  of  Reynolds, 
who  had  excused  himself  for  a  few  moments,  that 
the  members  of  the  committee  were  delighted  with 
their  entertainment. 

Edward  Reynolds  was  no  exception.  He  knew 
the  weakness  of  the  clergy  as  well  as  another.  He 
gave  directions  to  his  servant  to  repair  to  Franklin 
Bros.,  then  the  most  popular  caterers  of  the  city, 
and  engage  a  spread  for  six  persons,  and  that  no 
expense  was  to  be  spared.  The  consternation  of 
the  good  lady  was  depicted  in  every  feature  at  this 
extraordinary  extravagance  of  her  master.  How- 
ever, she  departed  on  her  errand  in  haste,  while 
Reynolds  returned  to  his  visitors. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "what  do  you  think  of  the  Pri- 
mary Grade?" 

The  gentlemen  gathered  about  him.  They  had 
forgotten,  in  no  small  measure,  their  sour  grapes. 

"We  are  more  than  pleased.  What  perfect  or- 
der!" confessed  one  of  the  number. 

"I  never  saw  children  giving  such  close  atten- 
tion to  study,"  said  another. 

"Professor  Smith  has  been  very  obliging  to  us." 
said  the  third,  bowing  gratefully  to  the  person 
indicated,  who,  in  return,  acknowledged  the  com- 
pliment. 

"I  notice  the  light  and  ventilation  are  arranged 
in  accordance  with  the  most  scientific  methods," 
127 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

said  number  four,  who  was  of  a  family  of  archi- 
tects. 

Hardsides  was  somewhat  propitiated,  but  said 
nothing  in  favor  of,  or  derogatory  to,  anything  he 
had  seen  or  heard.  He  was  suspending  judgment 
until  the  finish.  He  did  not  propose  to  be  chloro- 
formed. 

The  instructors  in  each  of  the  departments  had 
proceeded  with  recitations  during  the  presence  of 
the  visitors,  and  the  gentlemen  were  compelled  to 
acknowledge  that  the  scholars  were  a  credit  to  the 
school,  as  the  school  to  the  founder.  Among  the 
three  hundred  pupils  in  the  several  departments 
visited,  not  one  instance  had  been  detected  where  a 
reprimand  was  deserved.  The  boys  and  girls  were 
taught  in  separate  rooms,  the  studies  being  the 
same  for  both,  with  the  exception  that  the  young 
ladies  were  given  instruction  in  the  culinary  art. 

Mr.  Hardsides  had  taught  school  when  a  young 
man,  the  proceeds  from  which  labor  were  used  in 
his  college  career;  and,  as  he  moved  about,  his 
practical  eye  analyzed  everything  coming  under 
its  observation.  He  admitted  the  rectitude  of  the 
school;  approved  the  recitations,  liked  this,  liked 
that ;  but  he  rarely  canonized.  It  was  not  the  first 
good  school  he  had  seen  in  his  day;  discipline  was 
no  stranger.  The  founder  of  that  school  might  be 
eccentric,  good,  even ;  but  he  had  seen  eccentric  and 
good  men  before  who  were  great  blasphemers. 
128 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Please  step  this  way,"  said  Reynolds,  who  was 
standing  by  the  window,  looking  out  upon  the 
street. 

The  gentlemen  obeyed.  A  number  of  men  were 
unloading  bundles  of  something  from  covered  ve- 
hicles to  the  pavement.  Several  hundred  boys 
were  standing  orderly  about  the  heaps.  A  dozen 
men  were  busy  distributing  the  bundles. 

"Edward  Ford,"  called  one  of  these  men. 

"Here,"  answered  a  youth,  stepping  forward 
with  alacrity. 

A  handful  of  papers  was  passed,  and  the  heels 
of  the  little  fellow  were  seen  disappearing  around 
the  corner. 

"Jimmie  Smith." 

"Here,"  and  the  papers,  the  heels  and  the  corner 
were  much  in  evidence  again. 

These  papers  were  delivered  from  the  publishers 
and  turned  over  to  the  boys,  the  same  being  charged 
to  Reynolds;  the  lads  brought  back  the  money, 
paid  it  over  to  the  agents  of  Reynolds,  and,  after 
deducting  expense,  the  residue  was  returned  to  the 
children.  Cheating  was  unknown.  The  ministers 
took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  and  laughed  until 
the  tears  rolled  down  their  cheeks  at  the  precipi- 
tate flight  of  the  boys  upon  receiving  their  com- 
plement of  papers. 

"That's  business  rivalry,"  said  one. 

"Well,  did  you  ever?"  said  another,  pointing  at 
129 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

a  boy  vanishing  around  the  corner  at  break-neck 
velocity,  his  equilibrium  being  recovered  at  several 
points  by  clever  convolutions  of  the  body. 

"I  never  shall  forget  the  picture  which  we  have 
just  witnessed.  News-boys  are  pretty  much  alike," 
continued  the  speaker,  "but — heigho,  there's  a  dis- 
aster," pointing  forward,  where  a  chubby  lad  had 
outrun  his  ability  and  was  rotating  like  a  ball, 
which  he  somewhat  resembled,  upon  the  pavement. 
As  the  youth  came  to  a  rest,  his  eyes  caught  sight 
of  the  grinning  faces  of  the  clergymen,  and  an  in- 
voluntary grimace  flashed  over  his  features,  which 
was  no  sooner  seen  than  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  bow- 
ing toward  the  window  apologetically,  and  pursued 
his  itinerary  with  more  caution. 

It  was  discovered  that  one  of  the  visitors  was 
missing.  And,  sure  enough,  Hardsides  was  lo- 
cated in  a  remote  corner,  engaged  in  earnest  con- 
versation with  one  of  the  faculty,  who  chanced  to 
be  a  member  of  his  congregation.  Mr.  Hardsides 
had  seen  him  enter,  and  immediately  recognizing 
his  parishioner,  buttonholed,  and  took  him  to  a 
secluded  place  and  began  to  ply  him  with  ques- 
tions. Some  quarter-hour  was  consumed  in  this 
ordeal.  When  he  returned  to  the  side  of  his 
friends,  many  of  the  wrinkles  in  his  face  were  miss- 
ing. Whatever  may  have  been  the  nature  of  the 
conference  over  there  in  the  corner,  it  was  appar- 
ent that  "Doubting  Thomas"  was  considerably 
130 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

mollified.  Whereas  before  he  had  been  taciturn,  if 
not  sullen,  he  was  now  talkative,  even  inquisitorial. 
He  questioned  everything,  and  listened  to  explana- 
tions with  evident  appreciation.  His  associates 
were  no  little  surprised  at  the  late  turn  of  affairs. 

In  due  course  of  time,  these  gentlemen  found 
themselves  returning  to  the  private  office  of  Ed- 
ward Reynolds.  They  were  in  splendid  humor, 
having  passed  a  couple  of  hours  as  pleasantly  as 
profitably. 

Ministers  are  not  a  bad  sort.  They  are  the  best 
people  in  the  world,  the  salt  of  the  earth,  as  it 
were.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  without  just  reason, 
sadly  misunderstood;  but,  for  all  that,  they 
are  genuine,  big-hearted  men,  loyal  to  themselves 
and  to  the  cause  of  their  Master's  service.  They 
are  sponsors  for  the  weaknesses  and  infirmities  of 
the  flesh  coming  within  the  zone  of  their  benedic- 
tion. If  their  scrutiny  into  the  promptings  of  the 
heart  is  penetrating,  it  is  to  find  bleeding  wounds 
to  bathe  the  bruised  parts  with  holy  balm.  Oh ! 
how  sad  indeed,  yea,  cheerless,  wretched,  would 
be  this  great  world  of  ours  without  their  kind 
ministrations. 

As  Christ  said  to  the  waters,  "Peace,  be  still," 
and  the  elements  obeyed,  these  holy  men,  resting 
their  hands  upon  bowed  heads,  whisper  to  the 
troubles  of  the  soul,  "Peace,  be  still." 

"Refreshments  are  ready,"  a  voice  announced. 
131 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

The  visitors  glanced  at  each  other,  then,  with- 
out further  protest,  they  followed  their  host  to  the 
dining  room.  There  are  three  very  important,  if 
not  indispensable,  essentials  to  human  happiness,  a 
good  appetite,  a  good  dinner,  and  a  good  diges- 
tion. Those  reverend  gentlemen  were  especially 
favored  in  reference  to  all  three  cardinal  features. 
When  these  functions  unite  without  strife  and  be- 
trayal, as  it  were,  the  comfort  of  the  inner  man  is 
sure  to  be  reflected  on  the  circumference.  A  hap- 
pier, more  contented  and  satisfied  contingent  of  the 
Church  of  England  could  not  have  been  found 
in  the  realm  than  those  five  devout  representatives, 
our  worthy  Mr.  Hardsides,  if  anything,  taking 
precedence. 

"We  are  under  obligations  for  your  most  de- 
lightful hospitality,"  said  that  gentleman  felici- 
tously. 

"Please  do  not  mention  it,  sir,"  said  Reynolds. 

"But  your  time,  sir,  in  showing  us  the  school — 
this  sumptuous  repast,"  proceeded  Hardsides. 

"I  trust  you  feel  repaid  for  your  visit,"  Reyn- 
olds replied  courteously. 

"We  do,"  emphasized  the  chairman. 

"Indeed  we  do,"  chorused  the  others. 

"Then  the  pleasure  of  this  meeting  is  mutual." 

Edward  Reynolds  spoke  truthfully.     If  he   had 

felt  resentment  earlier  in  the  day,  it  had  long  since 

vanished.     "Now,  gentlemen,  there  is  one  matter 

132 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

that  has  quite  escaped  attention  which  must  not  be 
overlooked." 

The  guests  exchanged  anxious  glances. 

"I  refer  to  instructions  from  the  powers  dele- 
gating you  to  favor  me  with  this  visit,"  continued 
Reynolds;  "how  about  your  report?" 

"Our  report!"  they  exclaimed  in  unison,  pro- 
longing the  gaze  at  one  another,  their  eyes  finally 
settling  upon  the  somewhat  discomfited  Hardsides. 

"Well,  well,  I  must  admit  we  are  quite  forgetful 
in  having  neglected  the  purpose  of  this  interview. 
Truly,  sir,  I  must  thank  you  for  refreshing  our 
memory." 

"I  judge  it  was  a  trouble,"  Reynolds  stated. 

"I  confess  it  something  of  one,"  said  Hardsides, 
with  embarrassment. 

"Then,  if  I  have  caused  you  to  forget  your 
trouble,  the  day  has  not  been  spent  in  vain." 

"Mr.  Reynolds,"  said  Hardsides,  approaching 
and  extending  his  hand,  "will  you  tell  us  what 
there  is  about  this  report — this  rumor — irregular- 
ity— or  what  you  please?  Tell  us,  in  fact,  the  re- 
ligion you  preach?" 

After  a  moment's  deep  silence,  the  two  hands 
still  clasped,  the  lips  parted  and  a  voice  sweet, 
sonorous,  musical,  replied:  "'To  do  good,  is  my 
religion.' ' 

In  the  center  of  the  group  stood  the  two  men, 
their  hands  still  locked ;  men  the  very  antithesis  of 
133 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

each  other ;  one  a  stickler  for  ceremony,  ritualistic, 
the  other  an  extreme  eclectric,  liberal,  unsectarian. 

"I  believe  you,"  said  the  chairman  of  that  dele- 
gation. "I  came  here  your  avowed  adversary,  I 
depart  your  ally,  your  friend." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Reynolds,  releasing  the  hand 
of  the  celebrated  churchman.  A  moment  after- 
wards, Edward  Reynolds  watched  the  procession 
moving  down  the  street  like  a  cavalcade. 

"Who  was  the  young  man  with  whom  you  were 
conversing?"  asked  one  of  the  number  of  Hard- 
sides. 

"He's  a  teacher  in  one  of  the  schools  run  by 
that  man." 

"Know  him?" 

"Yes ;  he  is  a  member  of  my  church." 

"Question  him?" 

"Yes." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  we  should  go  home  and  pray  for 
strength  to  do  half  the  good  that  man  does  whom 
we  came  to  persecute,"  replied  the  minister  sol- 
emnly. 

The  pedestrians  again  relapsed  into  silence,  but 
a  silence  more  eloquent  than  words.  Each  one,  in 
his  own  way,  had  stumbled,  as  it  were,  upon  the 
same  conclusion. 

Edward  Reynolds  returned  and  flung  himself 
dejectedly  into  a  chair  at  his  desk.  Some  dozens 
134 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

of  unopened  letters  lay  before  him,  as  many  papers 
and  periodicals.  But  for  the  singular  intrusion 
of  his  recent  visitors,  these  letters  would  have  long 
since  been  read  and  many  of  them  answered.  As 
he  sat  gazing  at  the  voluminous  heap,  speculating 
vaguely  as  to  their  contents,  a  sense  of  rebellion 
came  into  his  life;  prejudged  and  misconstrued; 
the  very  church  to  which  he  rendered  such  valuable 
service  turning  like  a  viper  to  sting  him.  He  felt 
sore — distraught,  an  irritation  such  as  he  had 
never  experienced  was  griping  his  heart.  Was 
his  life  a  failure?  Were  the  sacrifices  which  he 
had  made  not  to  be  counted  except  against  him? 
The  hand  of  a  woman  had  shaped  his  destiny,  and 
that  hand  seemed  ever  pointing  athwart  the  path 
of  pleasure  and  the  path  of  peace.  He  felt  his 
life  cheated,  first  and  last,  by  a  woman — faithless, 
frivolous.  He  had  been  temporarily  victorious 
over  those  minions  of  the  church,  but  they  or  others 
would  return.  Their  advent  was  the  summons  to 
the  inquisition.  The  religious  publications  of 
London  had  long  since  lampooned  unmercifully  the 
founder  of  the  college  for  poor  boys  and  girls  and 
the  "exhorter"  that  addressed  that  pauper  audi- 
ence. He  felt  failure  and  defeat  and  heart-ache 
crowding  thick  and  fast  upon  him.  Yet,  who 
more  than  he  had  dedicated  his  life  to  these  three — 
failure,  defeat,  heartache?  There  were  restless 
times  when  he  wished  to  throw  them  off;  to  fly — 
135 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

escape.  He  arose  and  began  to  pace  the  floor. 
There  was  a  sort  of  savage  gesture  in  the  long 
strides.  The  elasticity  of  those  limbs  had  been 
formed  in  the  jungles  of  India.  There  was  com- 
fort in  the  rapidity  of  his  movements,  if  the  strug- 
gle raging  within  could  be  comforted.  The  hours 
came  and  went  and  still  the  forces  of  the  man's 
nature  were  exhausting  themselves.  Late  in  the 
night  the  old  servant  shuddered  in  her  room  below. 
She  loved  her  master  and  she  knew  the  tramp  of 
those  tireless  feet  kept  pace  with  the  tireless  despair 
of  some  cruel  past. 

To  love  where  he  should  hate ;  to  be  held  captive 
to  a  thraldom  that  ever  disdains  the  victim;  to 
know  that  the  flash  of  an  eye,  a  golden  head  shall 
stand  at  the  threshold  of  his  happiness  as  long 
as  the  heart  beats  out  its  complement  of  time, 
never  to  glance  except  in  scorn  at  the  enslaved 
supplicant.  Such  were  the  thoughts  that  put 
spurs  to  the  walker's  swift  revolutions.  Ever  and 
anon  as  he  passed  the  desk  upon  which  lay  the  un- 
opened letters  that  were  to  monopolize  him  upon 
the  morrow — letters  that  had  broken  violently  into 
his  life,  controlling  his  conduct,  governing  his  ac- 
tions— a  shadow  flitted  across  his  countenance.  He 
knew  he  was  not  like  other  men.  He  felt  his  soul 
beating  out  its  wings  against  the  unyielding  bars 
that  held  it  prisoner.  Farther  and  farther  he 
walked  away  from  those  letters.  If  some  one  else 
136 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

would  only  receive,  read  and  answer  them!  Yet, 
in  obedience  to  some  resistless  fascination,  or  the 
result  of  long  habit,  he  came  and  paused  over 
them.  A  cynical  smile,  the  first  of  a  lifetime,  was 
distorting  those  lips,  when,  turning  deadly  pale, 
the  man  put  out  his  hand  suddenly.  His  eyes 
were  transfixed  upon  the  glaring  head-lines  of  a 
Philadelphia  paper. 

MADGE  ELDRIDGE !  MADGE  ELDRIDGE ! 
They  were  letters  of  fire,  burning  and  blistering 
his  brain.  He  shook  so  violently  the  table  against 
which  he  leaned  for  support  swayed  beneath  his 
vibrating  weight. 

MADGE  ELDRIDGE!     Then  the  hand  that 
had  started  forward  went  farther  and  lifted  the 
message  from  over  the  sea.     He  read: 
"  Little  Madge  Eldridge  Rescued  from  the  Waters 

of    Sinnemahoning    River    by    Clarence    Clark, 

Who   Was    Gathering   Nuts    in   the   Adjacent 

Forest. 

"It  was  the  girl's  birthday,  and  a  company  of 
children  were  playing  upon  the  bank  of  the  river, 
when  the  heiress  of  the  Eldridge  millions  fell  into 
the  water,  and  but  for  the  timely  arrival  of  this 
youth,  who  was  attracted  to  the  spot  by  the  agon- 
ized shrieks  of  the  widowed  mother,  would  have 
perished.  It  was  the  greatest  marvel  in  the  world 
that  both  children  were  not  drowned.  The  boy 
has  been  stricken  with  fever,  and  absolutely  noth- 
137 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ing  can  be  learned  of  his  antecedents,  farther  than 
that  his  name  is  Clarence  Clark,  and  that  his  par- 
ents died  in  New  York  City  during  the  prevalence 
of  cholera  some  eight  years  ago.  His  brave  deed, 
however,  has  earned  him  a  home,  should  he  recover, 
as  the  mother  of  the  little  girl  has  assured  our  cor- 
respondent of  her  intention  to  provide  abundantly 
for  his  future.  The  little  lady  feels  no  serious 
effects  from  her  adventure." 

The  storm  had  passed.  Edward  Reynolds 
kneeled,  and,  bowing  his  head,  breathed  fervently : 
"Poor  Alice!  Oh,  God,  I  thank  Thee  for  this 
mercy." 


138 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

In  due  course  of  time,  Edward  Reynolds  alight- 
ed at  the  gates  of  one  of  the  oldest  estates  in  Eng- 
land, and  was  directly  admitted  to  the  presence  of 
Lord  Howe.  The  greeting  between  these  two  men 
was  cordial.  The  old  nobleman,  something  of  an 
invalid  for  the  past  two  years,  had  seldom  left  his 
room  during  the  last  few  months.  He  had  writ- 
ten Edward  Reynolds  an  urgent  letter  asking  an 
interview  at  his  earliest  convenience,  and  had  re- 
ceived a  reply  that  the  young  man  would  call  at 
the  present  date.  The  old  nobleman  had  looked 
forward  to  this  meeting,  so  to  be  fraught  with  big 
results,  with  considerable  anticipation. 

"I  received  a  note  desiring  an  interview  from 
your  lordship  last  week,"  said  the  young  man,  with 
his  characteristic  address  to  matters  in  hand,  "and 
am  come  to  learn  your  pleasure." 

"Not  now;  after  refreshments  are  served.  You 
are  my  guest  to-day.  Here,"  addressing  a 
waiter,  and  noticing  the  look  of  impatience  in  his 
visitor's  face,  "tell  the  servants  to  hurry  up  some- 
thing to  eat.  You  will  have  compassion  upon  the 
loneliness  of  an  old  man,  and  revive  him  with  a  few 
hours  of  your  society." 

139 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"But,  my  lord,  I  have  little  time  for  idleness, 
much  as  my  inclinations  may  feel  like  accepting 
your  hospitality;  yet,"  dropping  wearily  into  a 
chair,  "I  will  remain  a  few  hours." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Lord  Howe,  recovering 
quickly,  by  no  means  disconcerted  because  of  in- 
difference of  his  invited  guest  to  the  blandishments 
of  power  and  influence  of  a  noble  house.  "I  live 
here,"  pointing  at  the  walls,  "with  my  ancestry." 
There  was  a  world  of  pathos  in  the  old  nobleman's 
voice  and  gesture. 

"I  see  so  little  of  my  fellow  men  of  late  that  I 
feel  like  imposing  upon  any  and  all  terms  of  re- 
lieving my  perforced  seclusion.  Still,  I  have  mat- 
ters of  moment  to  discuss  with  you,  which  will  take 
some  time,  and  I  am  sure  your  long  ride  has  given 
you-  an  appetite  for  dinner.  After  refreshments 
we  shall  proceed  with  my  affairs." 

Reynolds  was  silent ;  he  had  hardly  followed  the 
remarks  of  the  nobleman. 

The  escutcheon  of  the  Howes  hung  upon  those 
walls.  There  were  swords,  lances  and  shields  with 
deep  indentations,  bruised  in  the  service  of  Eng- 
land's sovereigns. 

"Yes,  I  pass  my  life  here  in  the  solitude  of  great 
deeds  and  a  mighty  name,"  the  old  man  continued, 
noticing  the  awakened  interest  of  his  guest. 

"Indeed,  I  am  deeply  interested.  I  could  listen 
a  week  while  each  separate  history  of  those  spears, 
140 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

shields  and  swords  was  being  narrated,"  rising  and 
passing  from  one  to  another,  examining  carefully. 
"The  chivalry  of  those  olden  days  will  never  be 
revived.  I  always  fancy  a  story  of  King  Ar- 
thur's Round  Table  in  each  relic  of  ancient  war- 
fare upon  which  I  gaze." 

"That,"  said  the  old  man,  touching  a  deep  dent 
in  a  helmet,  "that  was  made  by  the  side  of  William 
the  Conqueror;  this,"  passing  to  another,  "at 
Hastings.  Here,"  looking  higher  on  the  wall,  "an 
ugly  thrust  of  the  French,  as  my  remote  ancestors 
dashed  against  the  victorious  Gauls  and  turned  the 
tide  of  battle." 

The  old  nobleman  moved  quicker  as  memories  of 
a  noble  family — inmates  and  companions  of  a  gild- 
ed past — were  revived  and  reviewed.  Was  the 
man  in  his  dotage?  No.  Why,  then,  this  out- 
ward perturbation?  What  potent  forces  at  work 
to  quicken  this  strange  exhilaration  in  the  bosom 
of  this  septuagenarian? 

"And  this  ?"  asked  the  young  man,  pointing  to  a 
haggled  sword,  neglected  by  the  narrator. 

"That,"  and  the  blood  seemed  to  glow  in  the  old 
man's  face  as  his  eye  rested  upon  those  symbols  of 
struggle  and  carnage,  while  memory  swept  over 
the  past.  "Those,"  he  reiterated,  "were  the  last 
honors  gained  in  the  service  of  England's  crowned 
heads  by  the  house  of  Howe." 

"They  were  yours?"  asked  the  young  man. 
141 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Mine,"  and  the  old  nobleman  sank  into  a  chair. 

"Dinner,"  announced  the  servant. 

The  two  men  proceeded  to  the  dining-room,  the 
younger  one  supporting  the  nobleman  upon  his 
arm.  The  meal  was  eaten  in  silence,  the  elder  man 
having  relapsed  within  himself,  while  the  visitor 
was  completely  engrossed  with  the  words  and 
scenes  just  listened  to  and  witnessed. 

After  returning  to  the  drawing-room,  the  noble- 
man plunged  into  the  business  in  view  with  a  mani- 
fest desire  to  settle  a  matter  that  had  given  him 
much  uneasiness  and  anxiety. 

"You  are  a  very  much  talked-about  individual," 
he  said,  as  soon  as  they  were  seated. 

"It  seems  I  am  so  far  unfortunate,"  acknowl- 
edged the  younger  person. 

"I  have  noticed  some  severe  strictures  and  some 
most  complimentary  paragraphs,"  remarked  the 
lord. 

"Approval  and  disapproval  are  much  the  same 
to  me." 

"You  are  an  American;  why  locate  in  London? 
Does  America  furnish  no  paupers?  Is  there  no 
wretchedness  in  the  States  that  appeals  to  your 
sympathies  ?" 

"I  am  an  American  by  birth,  an  Englishman  by 
adoption." 

"I  never  could  quite  understand  your  presence 
among  us.  The  amount  of  money  which  you 
142 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

spend  Is  enormous.  Last  year,  if  the  press  notices 
are  correct,  you  turned  out  between  two  and  three 
hundred  graduates  from  your  unique  college;  and 
I  saw  a  statement  recently  that  over  two  hundred 
of  these  are  filling  responsible  positions  in  nearly 
every  walk  of  life,"  commented  his  lordship. 

"Such  are  the  facts,"  asserted  the  man  of  less 
than  thirty  years  of  age,  without  either  feeling  or 
evincing  the  least  vanity. 

"I  can  understand  in  a  measure  how  this  has 
been  accomplished.  The  church,  without  realiz- 
ing the  fact,  seeks  to  reach  the  head,  rather  than 
both  the  head  and  the  heart.  It  may  not  be  too 
much  to  say  that  it  aims  to  be  attractive  and  pleas- 
ing to  the  eye,  even  at  the  risk  of  forgetting 
Christ.  In  other  words,  may  one  not  ask  if  mod- 
ern theology  does  not  reveal  our  Redeemer  seeking 
the  church,  instead  of  the  church  seeking  Him? 
This  state  of  spiritual  affairs  may  be  engaging  to 
the  vanities  of  a  congregation  professing  to  rejoice 
in  God's  approbation,  and  praying  after  the  Phar- 
isee manner  of  a  Sabbath  day,  to  prey  upon  the 
poor  the  remaining  six  days  of  the  week.  The 
sum  is  expressed  in  these  words:  We  cheerfully 
donate  one  hundred  pounds  sterling  to  purchase  a 
candelabrum,  from  which  effulgent  rays  are 
thrown  into  the  faces  of  faultlessly  dressed  and 
aromatically  perfumed  audiences,  but  not  a  far- 
thing, except  in  grumbling  taxation,  to  buy  bread 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

to  feed  the  starving  unfortunates  reduced  by  sick- 
ness and  disease  to  abject  penury;  and,  when  a 
stranger  comes  among  us,  asking  nothing,  preach- 
ing another  religion,  picking  up  the  fallen,  placing 
a  cup  filled  with  hope  to  the  lips  of  the  famishing, 
perishing  souls  which  are  spurned  alike  by  laymen 
and  church,  the  advent  is  greeted  with  jeers  and 
ridicule.  Unaided,  sir,  and  alone,  you  have  res- 
cued hundreds  of  your  fellow-men  from  fates  a 
thousand  times  worse  than  death.  But  it  has 
borne  results.  The  last  Sabbath  day  I  passed  in 
London,  I  was  one  of  two  thousand  people  who 
heard  you  deliver  one  of  the  grandest  addresses  it 
has  ever  been  my  privilege  to  hear;  and,  sitting 
upon  those  cushionless  benches,  I  saw,  at  least,  one 
hundred  men  and  women,  belonging  to  England's 
most  aristocratic  and  exclusive  families,  who,  two 
years  before,  were  calling  you  names,  such  as  the 
'American  Madman,'  'Pauper  Farmer,'  'College 
Ragamuffin,'  and  kindred  epithets.  But  why 
leave  America  to  come  to  England?"  It  was  an 
abrupt  interruption  of  the  nobleman's  thought. 
He  could  not  reconcile  the  man  with  his  loca- 
tion. 

"My  lord,"  said  the  visitor,  "this  is  a  singular 
conversation."  Then,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
he  proceeded,  "I  will  state,  as  long  as  you  have  the 
kindness  to  ask,  why  I  quitted  America,  or,  as 
much  as  you  will  be  interested  in  knowing.  But 
144 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

first  I  wish  to  correct  some  animadversions  to  which 
I  have  just  listened.  The  church  was  never  more 
vigorous — never  more  potent  for  good  than  at  the 
present  moment.  It  is  emerging  more  into  the 
light  every  day,  and  moving  forward  in  resistless 
effort  for  the  salvation  of  man.  The  church  can- 
not do  everything.  Some  people  expect  it  to  per- 
form miracles.  I  am  not  so  sure  but  your  lord- 
ship is  of  the  number.  I  come  constantly  in 
contact  with  such  grand  and  unselfish  lives  in  the 
church  that  my  reverence  for  Christian  men  and 
women  is  boundless.  Pulpit  orators  have  the  most 
arduous  labors  to  perform.  Ministers  are  not 
given  the  credit  due  them.  To  appreciate  the  stu- 
pendous labor  of  the  ministry,  it  must  be  taken 
into  consideration  that  there  is  no  class  of  men  in 
any  other  walk  of  life  that  has  as  manifold  re- 
sponsibilities thrust  upon  it.  The  magnitude 
of  Christian  work  is  so  diversified  that  no 
single  man  can  compass  it.  In  religion,  as  in  any 
science,  the  most  difficult  work  is  performed,  as  it 
were,  by  specialists.  My  lord,  show  me  a  true 
Christian  and  I  will  point  to  an  intellect  devoting 
its  best  energies  to  the  welfare  of  the  human  race. 
Again,  I  can  see  no  objection  in  making  the  house 
of  God  beautiful.  Religion  is  beautiful.  We 
should  make  ourselves  presentable  in  offering  our- 
selves to  God.  In  entering  the  presence  of  maj- 
esty we  invariably  give  attention  to  our  personal 
145 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

appearance.  How  much  more  reason  have  we  to 
make  ourselves  attractive  when  we  approach  the 
Designer  of  all  that's  beautiful!  In  answering 
your  question,  'Why  I  am  in  London,'  I  have  mere- 
ly this  to  say:  I  quitted  America  March  10, 
1849,  forever.  I  traveled  in  India  and  Africa 
many  years,  encountering  dangers  and  perils 
constantly.  I  wanted  to  die.  I  have  knelt 
by  the  dying  victim  of  cholera,  and,  lifting 
the  head,  inhaled  the  fetid  breath  with  sui- 
cide in  my  heart.  Night  and  day,  without  sleep, 
I  have  ministered,  as  best  I  might,  to  the  awful 
suffering  of  a  plague-stricken  people.  It  was  not 
to  be.  I  had  to  live.  At  last,  in  despair,  I  asked 
for  light.  'O,  God,  what  wilt  Thou  me  to  do?' 
A  voice  answered,  'Work,  work  work !'  I  could 
not  return  to  America.  Germany?  No.  France? 
No.  There  was  only  one  place  in  all  the  universe 
— England.  England  is  the  great  barometer  of 
public  opinion  and  of  public  thought.  She  fixes 
the  mental  weights  and  measures,  as  it  were,  of  the 
civilized  world.  France,  while  tenaciously  holding 
to  her  national  volatility,  and  boasts  of  her  iden- 
tity, secretly  accepts  England.  The  phlegmatic 
philosophers  of  Germany  sing  'Wacht  am  Rhein' 
to  please  English  audiences,  and  of  all  the  Powers, 
Germany  is  least  Anglicized.  The  Atlantic  Ocean 
is  no  bigger  than  the  hyphen  between  Anglo- 
Saxon.  If  I  could  do  good  in  England,  by  a  sort 
146 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

of  social  process  of  evolution,  the  good  would 
spread  over  both  hemispheres.  Good  and  evil  are 
contagious.  Clear  the  sky  of  England,  and  the 
atmosphere  of  the  civilized  globe  bears  a  richer 
ozone  of  moral  purity.  I  gravitated  to  London 
for  the  reasons  mentioned,  and,  in  a  measure,  I 
have  found  that  which  I  sought." 

"You  are  a  credit  to  the  land  of  your  adop- 
tion," said  the  nobleman,  slowly. 

"I  am  grateful  for  your  good  opinion,"  replied 
Reynolds. 

"To  convince  you  of  my  regard  and  confidence," 
continued  Lord  Howe,  "I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of 
you.  I  wish  you  to  accept  all  the  property  I  pos- 
sess, that  does  not  escheat  to  the  Crown,  to  be  used 
as  you  see  fit  in  your  college.  I  make  no  condi- 
tion, except  that  it  shall  be  used  in  behalf  of  the 
unfortunate  children  of  London." 

"My  lord!" 

"I  am  an  old  man,  without  children,  without 
grandchildren,  and  it  will  be  easier  to  die  knowing 
that  this  fortune  with  which  I  have  been  favored  is 
being  placed  to  the  credit  of  these  friendless  bits  of 
humanity.  Besides,  it  is  an  atonement,"  lowering 
his  voice  so  as  to  be  scarcely  audible. 

"My  generous  friend  and  acquaintance,  do  you 
wish  to  increase  my  burdens  ?  I  have  an  independ- 
ent fortune.  With  all  my  philanthropies,  the  in- 
come of  the  principal  is  not  consumed.  But  there 
147 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

are  plenty  of  places  where  your  munificent  gift 
will  be  accepted." 

"Before  you  decline,"  remonstrated  the  old  gen- 
tleman, "hear  what  I  have  to  say:  Two  children 
were  born  to  me,  a  son  and  a  daughter.  My  life 
was  filled  with  contentment.  I  doted  on  my  chil- 
dren. An  honored  name  was  to  pass  to  future 
ages,  as  I  had  every  reason  for  believing.  But, 
'Man  proposes,  God  disposes.'  My  boy  was  killed 
in  India — will  you  hand  me  that  cordial,  please? — 
thank  you.  Years  rust  asunder  the  iron  bars  of 
nature.  I  was  wild  with  grief.  All  the  proud 
plans  cherished  in  my  bosom  had  failed.  The 
months,  years  rolled  by.  I  forgot  my  daughter. 
One  day  she  came  and,  kneeling  at  my  feet,  con- 
fessed her  love  for  a  poor  curate  who  had  been 
preferred  to  the  sinecure  by  my  patronage.  My 
passion  knew  no  bounds.  I  must  have  been  mad, 
for  I  raved  and  cursed.  I  was  the  last  male  of  a 
noble  ancestry,  a  daughter  alone  remaining  to 
transmit  to  posterity  an  illustrious  name,  and  she 
loving  an  unknown  and  worthless  scion  of  the 
church !  My  daughter  would  not  yield  to  my  au- 
thority ;  in  fact,  she  could  not,  for  there  had  been  a 
secret  marriage.  Reginald  Clark  was  her  hus- 
band, and  when  she  told  me  of  the  unrepentant  act 
and  begged  forgiveness,  I — oh,  it  was  awful  for  a 
father  to  do ! — I  drove  her  from  the  door  with  hor- 
rible imprecations,  never  to  call  me  father,  as  I 
148 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

should  never  acknowledge  her  my  child.  But  my 
heart  was  not  entirely  bad.  I  longed  for  my 
daughter.  I  had  been  both  fond  and  proud  of 
her.  One  day  when  I  was  making  arrangements 
to  follow  them  to  America  and  bring  them  back,  I 
received  intelligence  of  the  death  of  my  daughter 
and  of  her  husband.  The  letter  stated  that  a  child 
was  left — a  boy,  Clarence.  A  pestilence  in  New 
York  City  had  carried  them  off.  I  never  found 
that  boy."  The  old  nobleman  was  overcome  and 
paused  a  moment. 

"A  boy — Clark — Clarence,"  mused  the  younger 
man,  aloud. 

"What  were  you  saying?"  asked  the  old  lord, 
bending  forward  eagerly. 

"Oh,  I  remember!  Strange  coincidence — a  waif 
— Clarence  Clark — antecedents  unknown — it  may 
be  the  same " 

"For  God's  sake  tell  me  what  you  mean !"  inter- 
rupted the  nobleman,  standing  over  the  younger 
man,  his  aged  frame  trembling  with  excitement. 

"Be  seated,  please,  and  compose  yourself."  Lord 
Howe  obeyed. 

The  speaker  drew  from  an  inner  pocket  a  mo- 
rocco case  and  extracted  from  one  of  its  compart- 
ments the  paragraph  from  the  North  American, 
containing  an  account  of  the  rescue  of  Madge 
Eldridge  by  Clarence  Clark,  and  handed  it  to  the 
nobleman  with  the  remark,  "I  believe  it  probable 
149 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

that  this  boy  is  your  daughter's  child,  and  that 
your  lost  grandson  is  in  a  fair  way  to  be  restored 
to  you." 

The  old  nobleman  seized  the  paper  and  stared 
at  it  like  a  man  in  a  trance,  his  bloodless  lips  en- 
deavoring in  vain  to  articulate  the  words.  Oh,  the 
broken,  melancholy  voice !  Thrice  he  read  the  article, 
the  wizened  face  getting  more  pinched  and  drawn. 

"The  cordial — quick!  I  believe — I — am — dy — 
Oh — my — daughter — her — boy — at  last."  Lord 
Howe  fell  forward  unconscious  into  the  arms  of 
Edward  Reynolds.  Reynolds  bore  the  inanimate 
form  and  placed  it  upon  a  couch.  Help  was  sum- 
moned and  restoratives  administered.  Finally  the 
old  nobleman  opened  his  eyes  and  glanced  incom- 
prehensively  at  the  faces  about  him. 

"What  is  wrong?"  addressing  his  confidential 
secretary.  "Have  I  been  ill?  Or "  he  saw  Ed- 
ward Reynolds,  "I  remember  now.  Walter,  come 
here — near  me.  Is  it  true  my  boy  has  been  found 
— say,  is  it  true,  Walter,  or  was  I  dreaming  and 
mad  again?  Oh,  how  my  head  throbs  and  beats! 
Place  your  hand  upon  my  forehead  and  hold  it  to 
the  pillow — so.  Yes,  I  will  drink  it,  Walter. 
Thank  you.  How  good  you  have  been  all  these 
years,  and  I  have  been  ugly  and  irritable,  but 

"  He  saw  the  guest  again;  recollection 

cleared  the  mists  upon  the  memory.     Lord  Howe 

started  in  upright   position  on  the   couch.     The 

150 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

old  form  seemed  to  be  galvanized.  "Pardon  me 
for  causing  you  this  uneasiness;  but  I  am  young 
again.  Yes,  I  shall  outlive  the  century,  if  this 
good  news  proves  true." 

Hope,  entering  into  the  old  nobleman's  life,  had 
reinvigorated  the  aged  frame.  The  transforma- 
tion was  complete.  Lord  Howe  approached  his 
guest  with  a  step  light  and  elastic.  This  singular 
phenomena,  as  witnessed  at  remote  periods,  acting 
upon  the  vitality  of  human  organs,  is  inexplicable. 
Such  sporadic  instances  are  even  more  mysterious 
than  temporary  youth  conferred  by  hypnotic 
agencies  upon  the  aged  and  decrepit. 

"My  young  friend,  I  summoned  you  to  bestow 
a  vast  fortune  upon  an  enterprise  in  which  you  are 
interested,  and,  in  return,  have  received  a  new  lease 
of  life.  Something  tells  me  that  the  child  referred 
to  in  this  scrap  of  paper  is  my  grandson,  and  the 
successor  to  the  Howe  estates.  You  have  robbed 
yourself,  or  rather  the  cause  you  serve,  of  a  large 
amount  of  money,  but  have  gained  an  old  man's 
blessing." 

"I  prefer  the  latter.  I  have  wealth  enough 
with  which  to  be  bothered.  Besides,  no  man  is 
ever  deprived  of  what  he  never  possessed,"  said  the 
young  man,  betraying  no  trace  of  disappointment. 

"I  still  have  power  and  influence.  A  member 
of  the  House  of  Lords  wields  a  magical  mace,  and, 
we  shall  see !" 

151 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"My  lord,"  said  the  guest,  still  retaining  the 
hand  proffered  him,  "I  seek  no  power,  no  noto- 
riety. Your  influence,  if  directed  in  my  favor, 
would  only  embarrass  and  oppress  me.  My  work 
is  a  vineyard  unknown  to  the  multitudes,  and  I 
beg  to  be  left  in  seclusion.  I  shall  treasure  your 
friendship,  as  I  am  grateful  for  your  esteem,  but 
the  great  potentates  of  England  and  I  have  noth- 
ing in  common.  Leave  me  unmolested  in  the  work 
to  which  I  have  dedicated  my  life." 

"In  other  words,"  said  the  old  man,  "I  would 
only  cumber  your  triumph  with  a  needless 
weight.  You  are  a  noble  man.  God  bless  you." 
Edward  Reynolds  bowed  his  head  as  the  blessing 
was  invoked.  "Walter  and  I  sail  to  America. 
Will  it  be  quite  impossible  for  you  to  accompany 
us  to  your  native  land?" 

"Impossible,  not  'quite  impossible.'  I  shall 
never  again  step  upon  American  soil,"  said  Ed- 
ward Reynolds,  decisively. 

"Will  you  come  with  me  to  the  conservatory?" 
asked  the  nobleman.  Scarcely  had  they  entered 
the  spacious  garden  of  flowers,  when  the  old  man 
confronted  his  companion. 

"What  is  the  reason?  Why  this  expatriation? 
I  should  die  to  abdicate  English  soil." 

The  question  was  asked  so  suddenly  Reynolds 
was  confused,  and  stood  silently  gazing  at  his  in- 
terrogator in  astonishment. 
152 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Tell  me  frankly  and  I  will  make  it  right.  I 
have  power,  the  House  of  Lords  has  power,  and  I 
will  move  heaven  and  earth  to  restore  your  citizen- 
ship." 

"My  lord,  your  intentions — you  are  laboring 
under  false  impressions " 

"It  was  only  some  indiscretion,  some  boyish 
prank ;  but,  if  it  be  crime,  I  tell  you,  if  it  costs  half 
my  fortune " 

"My  lord!"  The  blood  rushed  in  crimson  tor- 
rents to  the  haughty  brow.  There  was  a  glitter 
of  steel  in  those  eyes.  The  form  towered  above 
the  old  nobleman.  Edward  Reynolds  was  sublime. 

"Forgive  me;  I  meant  no  offense.  I  am  all  at 
sea.  You  here — in  England;  there,  America! 
Still,  I  should  have  known  better.  My  suspicions 
are  unworthy  of  me.  They  shall  wrong  you  no 
more.  I  entreat  your  pardon."  The  abject  con- 
trition of  the  old  nobleman  was  painful  to  behold. 

"I  freely  pardon  you,  my  lord.  Your  offense 
was  an  error  of  the  head,  not  of  the  heart."  After 
a  moment's  pause,  the  speaker  continued:  "No, 
Lord  Howe,  I  am  not  in  need  of  your  kind  offices 
in  the  way  of  your  suggestion;  so  let  us  dismiss 
the  subject,  painful  alike  to  us  both." 

The  following  morning  an  English  nobleman 
and  his  trustworthy  factotum  sailed  to  the  United 
States. 


153 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"I  have  the  blood  of  an  Isaac  Walton  in  my 
veins  for  a  week,"  declared  Banker  Richards,  let- 
ting the  newspaper  which  he  had  been  reading  slip 
through  his  fingers  to  the  floor  with  a  rustling 
sound  not  unlike  the  splash  of  a  cascade  where 
speckled  beauties  disport. 

"Alice,"  he  continued,  addressing  his  daughter, 
"get  your  mother  in  shape  for  a  rough-and  -tumble 
in  the  woods,  and  we  shall  start  for  your  summer 
cottage  among  the  hemlock  'Spines'  of  the  Sinne- 
mahoning.  Better  invite  the  St.  Clairs." 

"Please,  papa,  let  us  go  by  ourselves."  It  was 
spoken  rapidly.  Banker  Richards  looked  at  his 
daughter  in  surprise. 

"Well,  as  you  and  mother  decide."  Mother  set- 
tles all  questions  at  variance. 

"We  see  so  much  company,"  commented  the  ar- 
bitratrix,  consulting  the  wishes  of  both,  "perhaps 
we  had  better  invite  them  a  couple  of  weeks  later. 
By  that  time,  maybe,  we  will  have  tired  of  our- 
selves." 

"I'm  agreed,"  assented  the  banker.  "When 
shall  we  start?" 

"Let's  see!  To-day  is  Wednesday.  How 
154 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

would  brook  trout  do  for  breakfast  Saturday 
morning?"  quizzed  Mrs.  Eldridge,  who  was  very 
partial  to  these  annual  visits  to  "The  Spines." 

The  mansion  erected  on  the  headwaters  of  the 
Susquehanna  by  Llewellyn  Eldridge  the  last  year 
of  his  life  had  been  christened  "The  Spines." 

"Capital!"  cried  the  banker.  "I'll  telegraph 
the  steward  we  are  coming." 

And  sure  enough,  a  great  platter  of  brook  trout, 
served  in  the  old  delicious  way,  steamed  from  the 
center  of  the  breakfast  table  at  "The  Spines"  Sat- 
urday morning,  about  which  were  seated  five 
happy  individuals,  being  Mr.  Richards  and  wife, 
his  daughter,  grandchild  and  Clarence  Clark. 

"Give  me  squabs  and  trout,"  declared  Banker 
Richards,  "as  the  choicest  game;  don't  you  say  so, 
sir?"  addressing  the  boy,  who  had  hung  at  the 
heels  of  the  speaker  along  the  streams  the  day  pre- 
vious with  the  fidelity  of  a  greyhound. 

"I  don't  know  what  are  squabs,"  admitted  the 
boy. 

"Squabs  are  young  wild  pigeons.  Say,  Madge, 
you  will  be  an  early  victim  of  dyspepsia,"  heaping 
another  generous  supply  of  fish  upon  the  plate  ex- 
tended in  his  direction  by  little  chubby  hands. 
"What  voracious  appetites  young  people  possess !" 

"And  some  older  ones,  too,"  smiled  Mrs.  Rich- 
ards, glancing  at  the  china,  well  decorated  with 
trout,  in  front  of  her  husband. 
155 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"I  plead  guilty  to  the  charge,"  said  the  banker, 
placing  a  fine  brown  trout  upon  the  plate  of  his 
wife,  which  was  the  third  or  fourth  visit  that  piece 
of  table  service  had  made  for  replenishment. 

"Somehow,  I  declare,  I  do  have  the  appetite  of  a 
wolf  whenever  I  come  here." 

"Only  the  appetite,  papa?"  said  Alice,  de- 
murely. 

"I'll  find  a  slippery  stone  in  the  middle  of  the 
stream  for  you  to  step  upon,  Monday,  to  pay  for 
that,"  said  the  banker.  "That  is  casus  belli." 

Monday  was  set  for  all  parties  to  camp  out  for 
the  day.  The  foreman,  who  had  been  in  the  em- 
ploy of  Llewellyn  Eldridge,  and  the  foreman's 
wife  had  been  invited  to  join  in  the  day's  sport,  as 
well  as  the  local  minister  and  his  estimable 
lady. 

These  visits  of  the  Richardses  were  looked  for- 
ward to  by  the  scattered  inhabitants  with  much 
expectancy.  There  was  scarcely  a  settler  for  miles 
that  had  not  been  employed  in  some  capacity  by 
Llewellyn  Eldridge,  and  the  munificence  of  the  old 
banker  and  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  of  such  sub- 
stantial proportions  as  to  cause  general  rejoicing. 
Every  morning  the  inquiry  was  made  at  "The 
Spines":  "Does  Mr.  Richards  fish  to-day?  If 
so,  what  stream?"  There  was  not  a  man  or  boy 
for  miles  that  could  have  been  tempted  to  cast  a 
hook  in  the  brook  indicated,  it  being  the  exclusive 
156 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

privilege  of  the  banker  to  fish  along  those  banks 
that  day. 

Of  all  the  persons  sharing  in  the  day's  sport  that 
Monday,  none  were  more  enthusiastic  than  little 
Madge  and  Clarence.  They  were  all  bluster  and 
excitement  from  the  time  the  canvas  tent  was  load- 
ed upon  the  heavy  democrat  wagon  early  in  the 
morning  until  the  homeward  return  at  nightfall. 
It  was  they  that  clapped  hands  when  the  squirrels 
jumped  from  limb  to  limb  above  their  heads,  as  the 
horses  trotted  over  the  old  road  through  the  forest. 
No  woodbine  nor  flower  escaped  their  bright  eyes 
— eyes  which,  ever  and  anon,  cast  covetous  glances 
at  the  large  earthen  jars  wherein  were  packed  the 
choicest  morsels  for  refreshments.  Arriving  at 
their  destination,  they  watched  the  workmen  drive 
posts  in  the  ground  about  which  to  fasten  cords 
of  the  tent,  volunteering  many  suggestions  of  no 
great  value  to  the  laborers.  They  helped  pull  the 
rope  over  the  pulley  when  the  canopy  was  lifted 
in  position,  the  importance  of  the  little  lady  in- 
creasing in  her  own  estimation,  at  least,  even  if 
the  progress  of  affairs  was  not  hastened  by  her 
officiousness.  Clarence  was  commanded  to  do  this 
— to  do  that,  as  her  vigilant  eyes  constantly  de- 
tected work,  needful  and  otherwise,  to  be  done. 

"Ain't  it  cosey!"  she  exclaimed  rapturously, 
pirouetting  gayly  upon  the  rugs  covering  the 
ground  within  the  inclosure.  Then,  too  happy  to 
157 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

contain  herself  in  any  one  occupation,  she  cried, 
"Let's  go  get  mamma  and  grandpa,"  darting  off 
in  the  direction  of  some  ladies,  with  the  boy  in 
close  pursuit.  But  "grandpa"  and  the  male 
members  of  the  party  had  long  since  been  landing 
the  fin  tribe  in  a  manner  to  their  entire  satisfac- 
tion. 

"Everything  is  up,"  cried  the  little  girl,  "and 
Clarence  and  me  is  awful  hungry."  Her  dismay, 
when  told  it  would  be  hours  before  lunch,  was  some- 
what dispelled  by  a  handful  of  cookies  from  one  of 
the  cadaverous  jars,  which  had  already  been  con- 
veyed from  the  wagon  to  a  snug  corner  of  the  tent. 
These  were  no  sooner  devoured  than  the  young 
lady  was  seized  with  a  fit  to  do  some  of  the  fishing 
herself.  Her  dignity  was  considerably  affronted 
when  informed  that  no  special  bamboo  rod  "in 
joints,"  with  reel  and  line,  had  been  provided  for 
her  ladyship.  She  was  consoled,  however,  when 
Clarence  told  her  she  could  use  "his'n,"  and  he 
would  cut  a  rod  from  a  bush.  Miss  Madge  was 
very  bold  over  putting  worms  on  the  hook  while 
walking  to  the  stream;  but,  upon  seeing  the  wig- 
gling denizens  of  the  soil  sprawling  in  the  bait- 
box,  her  courage  failed,  and  she  renounced  the  job 
in  Clarence's  favor,  while,  during  the  ceremony,  she 
watched  nothing  in  particular  fixedly  upon  the 
opposite  shore  of  the  small  creek,  which  laughing- 
ly babbled  over  its  pebbly  bottom. 
158 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Got  'm  on?"  she  inquired  a  little  squeamishly. 

"Purty  near,"  he  replied,  applying  himself  as- 
siduously to  the  task. 

"I'll  go  down  to  the  bank  and  watch  for  the 
fishes,"  she  suggested,  seeking  an  excuse  to  get 
farther  away  from  the  execution  of  the  worm. 

"I've  got  him  now,"  said  the  boy,  eying  the 
hook  satisfactorily.  "Hold  on,"  he  cried,  "you'll 
scare  the  trout.  Now  look  here,"  he  directed, 
"you  sly  up  to  the  roots  of  that  maple,  where  the 
water  turns  and  crosses  the  other  way,  and  drop 
over  in  the  deep  hole.  I'll  cut  a  fish  pole  and  be 
fishing  along  with  you  quicker  than  you  can  say 
'  Jack  Robinson.' ' 

Madge  gave  close  attention  to  instructions,  but 
hesitated,  shrugging  her  little  shoulders  at  the 
thought  of  taking  the  proffered  rod. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  boy. 

"Nothing,  only  I'll  just  watch  you  fish,"  cir- 
cling about  the  boy  in  such  a  manner  that  she  and 
the  worm  were  fenced  apart  by  her  escort. 

"Fiddlesticks !"  said  the  boy  in  disgust.  "Here, 
now,  you  just  do  as  I  say,"  putting  the  rod  in  her 
reluctant  hands  and  repeating  previous  directions. 
"Bravo !"  he  shouted  as  he  followed  her  admiringly 
with  his  eyes.  "I'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy,"  darting 
toward  a  clump  of  underbrush.  He  was  trimming 
a  small  ironwood,  when  he  heard  Madge  screaming 
at  the  top  of  her  voice. 

159 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Clarence!  Come  quick!  Somethin's  biting 
the  worm  all  to  pieces."  She  was  pulling  with  all 
her  strength  on  the  big  end  of  the  bamboo  rod, 
which  was  arched  like  a  rainbow  above  her  head. 

"Hold  on,  hard,"  yelled  the  boy  encouragingly, 
running  toward  her  as  fast  as  his  legs  would 
carry  him,  dragging  the  ironwood  by  his  side. 
"You've  got  'm  hooked;  pull  'm  out.  Now, 
he-o-he!" 

"Oh,  dear,  I  can't!  There,  he's  going  down 
the  stream  with  the  poor  worm  in  his  mouth."  The 
girl  gave  an  involuntary  shudder. 

"Let  me  take  the  pole;  I'll  learn  him  a  trick." 
And  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  darted 
around  the  maple,  waded  through  the  shallow 
water  of  the  riffle,  and  dexterously  leading  the 
trout  to  the  gravelly  bar  and  gradually  putting 
more  muscle  on  the  rod,  he  saw  the  big  fellow  go- 
ing faster  and  faster  through  the  water,  when, 
with  all  his  strength,  the  boy  tugged  upon  the 
pole,  and  the  fish  floundered  on  the  shore. 

"Ain't  he  a  bute?"  hilariously  shouted  the  boy, 
bearing  the  trophy  to  the  side  of  the  girl.  "There 
is  your  catch,"  eying  her  proudly ;  "ain't  he  an  old 
gee-wholliper  ?" 

"Get  the  worm  out  of  his  mouth,  quick!" 
screamed  the  girl,  compassionately,  "he'll  kill  it." 

"The  worm  is  killed  already ;  it's  the  hook  in  the 
trout's  nose,"  said  the  boy  in  a  superior  way. 
160 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"I  don't  want  to  fish  any  more,"  said  Madge 
decidedly. 

"Why  not?" 

"'Cause  it's  cruel." 

"Oh,  it's  fun !"  laughed  the  boy. 

"Maybe  it  is  for  boys,"  said  the  girl  reflectively, 
"but  girls  has  some  feelin's." 

The  trout  had  torn  the  bait  into  shreds,  one  of 
which  protruded  from  its  gaping  mouth.  The 
sight  was  too  much  for  the  young  lady,  and  seiz- 
ing the  bait-box  with  its  vermicular  contents,  she 
industriously  bored  a  hole  in  the  soft  mulch  with 
the  tiny  heel  of  her  shoe,  and  dumped  Messrs. 
Worms  in  the  miniature  excavation,  covering  them 
with  the  displaced  earth. 

"There  now,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  surprised 
youth,  "don't  you  touch  one  of  them." 

While  the  boy  was  perfectly  incapable  of  shar- 
ing the  sentiments  of  the  little  defender  of  the 
genus  vermes,  he  had  no  intention  of  disobeying 
royal  orders  delivered  with  such  vehemence. 

"How  would  you  like  to  be  strung  on  a  hook  and 
be  torn  in  bits  like  that?"  she  said,  pointing  at  the 
unfortunate  worm  in  the  mouth  of  the  fish. 

The  boy  was  a  little  doubtful  of  his  ground,  and 
silently  proceeded  to  extricate  the  steel  wire  from 
the  nose  of  the  fish,  which  had  ceased  its  strug- 
glings,  when,  cutting  a  crotched  twig,  he  strung 
one  of  the  tines  through  the  gills. 
161 


"He's  a  two-pounder  all  right,"  disdaining  to 
notice  the  remarks  of  his  more  conscientious  com- 
panion, mentally  weighing  the  fish  with  his  hand. 

"Hello!"  said  he,  glancing  at  the  lowering 
clouds,  "thunder  and  lightning!  Maybe  we  had 
better  git  for  cover." 

But  scarcely  had  they  gone  a  dozen  rods,  when 
the  rain  in  great  drops  began  to  descend  upon  the 
leaves  above  their  heads.  The  sky  was  dark  and 
forbidding,  while  the  wind  whistled  and  soughed 
among  the  branches  of  the  primeval  forest. 

"Guess  we  are  'lected  for  a  ducking,  surer'n 
blixen,"  said  Clarence,  glancing  about  in  search  of 
some  shelter  for  the  girl,  who  was  timidly  clinging 
to  his  hand.  "Don't  be  afraid,  Madge";  then, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  "See,  maybe  the  storm  has 
passed  round,"  gazing  at  the  scudding  clouds, 
sweeping  from  mountain  to  mountain  across  the 
valley.  Suddenly  the  drops  renewed  their  tattoo 
upon  the  canopy  of  dense  foliage  above  them. 

Crash!  Bang!  The  artillery  of  heaven  broke 
loose  from  fortifications  of  the  dark  clouds,  and 
the  rain  began  to  pour  in  torrents  from  flood-gates 
above. 

"Here,  quick!  put  this  on!"  pulling  his  coat 
over  the  trembling  girl,  which  quite  enveloped  her 
diminutive  form.  "There,  now,  that's  better," 
drawing  his  felt  hat  over  her  sunny  curls.  "We'll 
get  behind  this  big  hemlock,  and  let  her  thunder 
162 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

and  lighten  to  her  heart's  content."  He  placed 
his  arm  about  Madge,  and  interposed  his  body  be- 
tween her  and  the  raging  elements. 

"Don't  shiver  so,  Madge ;  this  is — is  fun,"  wip- 
ing away  as  best  he  might  with  his  disengaged 
hand  the  water  beating  against  his  face. 

Miss  Madge  failed  to  share  his  enthusiasm.  The 
boy  was  drenching  wet.  Adding  to  the  terror  of 
the  storm,  the  mammoth  trees  creaked  and  groaned 
as  though  in  mortal  agony,  ever  and  anon  the  less 
firmly  rooted  giving  way,  and  striking  a  neighbor 
tree  with  its  momentum,  they  would  crash  to  the 
ground,  making  the  earth  tremble  with  the  fall  of 
their  combined  weight.  The  atmosphere  became 
suddenly  cool,  and  hail,  the  size  of  hickory  nuts, 
tumbled  out  of  the  clouds,  increasing  their  peril. 

"Kick  your  toes  against  the  tree,  Madge,  if 
they're  cold,"  said  the  boy,  struggling  with  all  his 
might  to  keep  his  teeth  from  chattering.  "Don't 
shake  so.  Say,  Madge,  say  'I  ain't  afraid'  three 
times.  Now,  'I  ain't  afraid,'  once." 

"I  ain't  afraid,"  dubiously  piped  a  voice  next 
the  tree. 

"  'I  ain't  afraid,'  twice,"  dictated  the  lad. 

"I  ain't  afraid." 

"  'I  ain't  afraid,'  three  times,"  prompted  the 
boy. 

"I  ain't  afraid  three  times,"  shivered  the  girl. 

"Yonder  they  are,"  cried  the  banker,  hurrying 
163 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

forward,  accompanied  by  the  steward,  well  pro- 
vided with  mackintoshes. 

"You're  the  genuine  stuff,"  said  Mr.  Richards, 
patting  the  boy's  head;  "you've  kept  her  dry 
as  a  powder-horn." 

The  girl  was  crushed  in  a  rubber  coat,  lifted 
by  the  steward  and  borne  away  toward  the  tent, 
while  the  boy  placed  his  recovered  hat  over  his  head 
and  slid  into  one  of  the  mackintoshes. 

"What's  this?"  asked  the  banker,  detecting  the 
trout. 

"Oh!  Madge  caught  him,  sir,"  replied  the  boy. 

"It's  the  largest  trout  I  ever  saw,"  examining 
the  fellow  admiringly,  his  passion  for  fishing  by 
no  means  abated  by  the  raging  storm.  "I'll  carry 
him.  Now,  then,  let  us  get  out  of  this,"  and  suit- 
ing the  action  to  the  word,  the  old  gentleman 
started  for  the  tent,  with  the  boy  trudging  close 
in  his  wake. 

Upon  their  arrival  at  camp,  they  found  dinner 
in  course  of  preparation  over  a  crackling  fire. 
Despite  the  inclemency  without,  all  was  warm 
and  dry  within.  The  incidents  of  such  a  day 
thaw  out  the  rigors  of  life's  exclusive  caste,  re- 
storing conditions  of  equality,  and  going  far  to- 
ward reducing  the  artificial  distance  between  the 
poor  and  the  rich,  the  weak  and  the  powerful. 
The  children's  appetites  were  none  the  worse  for 
exposure,  the  aversion  of  the  little  girl  for  trout 
164 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

on  the  hook  entirely  disappearing  before  those 
on  the  platter.  It  was  quite  dusk  when  the  pleas- 
ure-seekers reached  "The  Spines." 

"There  are  two  gentlemen  in  the  library  waiting 
to  see  you,  sir,"  said  the  housekeeper  to  Banker 
Richards  as  the  party  approached  the  porch,  where 
she  had  stationed  herself.  From  this  position  she 
not  only  commanded  a  long  stretch  of  the  high- 
way with  those  vigilant  eyes,  but  the  interior  of 
the  library  as  well.  There  was  an  expression  of 
displeasure  upon  the  man's  face.  "I  told  them, 
sir,  that  you  saw  no  one  here,  unless  a  few  intimate 
friends  dropped  in  occasionally.  Indeed  I  did,  sir, 
but  they  said  their  business  was  urgent,  and  more 
with  Mrs.  Eldridge  than  you,  sir;  and  so,  not 
knowing  exactly  what  to  do,  I  invited  the  stran- 
gers to  be  seated  in  the  library  until  your  return; 
besides,  sir,  the  gentleman  gave  me  this  (exhibiting 
a  gold  coin).  It  is  English  money.  They  are 
foreigners." 

"Well,  you  did  quite  right  under  the  circum- 
stances," said  the  banker,  anxious  to  check  the  gar- 
rulity of  the  old  domestic. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  balancing  the  coin  on  the 
tips  of  her  fingers. 

Mr.  Richards  went  directly  to  the  library. 
Both  gentlemen  rose  upon  his  entrance. 

"This  is  Mr.  Richards,  I  believe,  whom  I  have 
the  pleasure  of  addressing?"  The  banker  replied 
165 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

in  the  affirmative.  "I  have  been  favored,"  con- 
tinued the  stranger,  "with  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion," bowing  and  extending  an  official  envel- 
ope, which  the  banker  opened  by  removing  the  seal 
and  perused  thoughtfully.  As  he  finished  the 
brief  letter,  he  stepped  forward. 

"I  am  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Lord 
Howe,"  shaking  hands  cordially  with  the  old  noble- 
man. 

"This  is  Walter  Haskell,  my  private  secretary," 
said  Lord  Howe,  presenting  his  faithful  old  serv- 
ant to  the  banker. 

"My  dear  sir,"  continued  the  nobleman,  "the 
importance  of  this  visit  is  its  own  apology.  I  can 
assure  you  that  no  mere  business  matter  could  have 
induced  me  to  invade  your  privacy.  I  am  well 
aware  how  gentlemen  of  affairs  value  the  few  privi- 
leged days  when  the  cares  of  business  are  cast  off; 
but,  sir,  my  visit  affects  me  very  deeply,  and  I  may 
hope,  if  my  information  proves  true,  that,  owing 
to  services  rendered  your  daughter  and  grandchild, 
your  joy  upon  being  made  acquainted  with  the 
connections  of  the  boy  to  whom  you  owe  so  much 
will  secure  me  ample  pardon  for  this  intrusion." 

"Whatever,  my  lord,  may  be  the  object  to  which 
I  am  indebted  for  the  honor  of  this  visit  is  already 
acknowledged;  but  let  me  beg  you  to  yield  the 
question  until  refreshments  are  served.  You  come 
from  Philadelphia,  and  must  be  both  tired  and 
166 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

hungry.  Our  accommodations  are  somewhat  lim- 
ited, but  you " 

"Believe  me,  sir,  we  do  not  wish  to  inconvenience 
you  in  any  way." 

"But  you  will — in  fact  you  are  at  a  disadvan- 
tage— you  are  compelled  to  share  such  hospitality 
as  we  afford.  There  is  really  no  hostelry  here 
where  you  can  find  lodgings,  and  the  passenger 
train  does  not  return  to  Philadelphia  until  10 
A.  M.  to-morrow.  Consequently,  my  lord,"  said 
the  banker  affably,  "I  am  going  to  order  your 
luggage  brought."  And  despite  the  protestations 
of  his  visitor,  the  banker  directed  his  steward  to 
drive  to  the  station  and  bring  any  baggage  be- 
longing to  the  nobleman  and  his  servant. 

"Now,  sir,  if  you  will  kindly  excuse  me  for 
a  few  moments  I  shall  change  these  damp 
clothes." 

"How  inconsiderate  of  me  to  have  detained  you ! 
It  seems  there  is  no  alternative  but  to  accept  the 
offer  of  your  hospitality,  but  I  trust  I  may  not 
always  remain  your  debtor.  I  shall  catch  you 
in  England  yet.  I  am  extremely  anxious,  how- 
ever," he  said,  his  voice  becoming  more  serious,  "to 
meet  your  daughter,  Mrs.  Eldridge,  and  the  boy, 
Clarence  Clark." 

"What's  in  the  wind?"  mused  the  banker  as  he 
hastened  to  his  room;  "this  is  mystifying." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  a  boyish  voice. 
167 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"In  here,"  replied  the  little  girl. 

"May  I  come?" 

"'Course,"  and  the  children,  who  had  changed 
their  garments,  pushed  open  the  library  door  and 
stepped  into  the  room. 

The  eyes  of  Lord  Howe  became  riveted  upon  the 
face  of  the  boy,  his  aged  features  working  convul- 
sively, while  a  pallor  like  that  of  death  spread 
over  his  countenance.  He  made  one  or  two  ef- 
forts to  rise,  but  his  trembling  limbs  refused  to 
support  their  weight.  The  tension  was  devouring 
him.  Hope  one  minute,  fear  the  next ;  he  had  been 
living  three  weeks  in  alternate  transports  of  joy 
and  depths  of  despair. 

"My  lord,  you  are  alarming  the  children;  con- 
trol yourself,"  whispered  the  secretary,  bending 
over  the  recumbent  form. 

"My  God,  my  dead  boy  come  back  to  me!" 
gasped  the  nobleman. 

The  girl  dimly  comprehending  the  scene,  re- 
treated timidly  to  the  side  of  Clarence.  Already 
she  had  learned  to  place  a  blind  faith  of  security 
in  her  protector. 

Lord  Howe  recovered  himself  by  a  superhuman 
effort.  He  smiled  at  the  confiding  trustfulness  of 
the  little  girl;  but  the  clear  gaze  of  the  boy — 
those  eyes  were  so  keen  and  intelligent — no  one 
knew  better  than  himself  that  it  would  be  difficult 
in  hiding  a  purpose  from  them. 
168 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Will  you  not  come  and  shake  hands  with  me?" 
asked  the  nobleman  reassuringly. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy  leading  the  somewhat 
reluctant  girl. 

The  nobleman  took  a  tiny  fist  in  each  of  his 
hands.  It  did  him  good.  Their  young  blood 
seemed  to  infuse  vitality  in  his  old  stagnant  veins. 
Walter  looked  upon  the  proceedings  with  satis- 
faction. 

"Well,  sir,  my  little  boy,  what  is  your 
name  ?" 

"Clarence,"  replied  the  boy,  promptly. 

"Clarence ?" 

"Clarence  Clark,"  added  the  boy,  coloring  to 
the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"How  old  are  you,  Clarence?" 

"Twelve  years,  sir." 

"What  month  and  day  were  you  born,  Clar- 
ence ?" 

"April  9,  1848,"  said  the  boy,  not  knowing- 
whether  to  be  pleased  or  not  at  the  catechism. 

"I  knew  it,"  said  the  old  man  eagerly.  "And 
your  father  and  mother?" 

"I  hain't  got  no  papa  and  mamma,"  said  the 
boy  sadly,  "I  ain't  like  other  boys." 

"Yes  you  is  too,"  said  the  little  girl,  "your 
papa  and  mamma  is  in  heaven.  Mamma  said  so 
when  I  asked  her." 

The  boy,  whose  religious  culture  had  been  some- 
169 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

what  neglected,  bowed  acquiescence  to  the  correc- 
tion. 

"Was  your  father's  name  Reginald  and  your 
mother's  Mary?"  asked  the  old  man,  turning  his 
face  partly  away  to  hide  his  emotion. 

"Yes,  sir." 

It  was  some  moments  before  the  old  gentleman 
spoke  again.  He  seemed  to  be  breathing  with 
difficulty.  Still  he  clung  to  the  little  hands  con- 
fided to  his.  Finally  he  said: 

"And  this  is  the  little  Madge,  whom  you  saved 
from  drowning?"  resting  his  eyes  upon  the  sweet 
face  of  the  girl. 

"Yes,  sir,'  said  the  boy,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
and  casting  a  swift  glance  at  his  questioner. 
Those  eyes  seemed  to  ask,  "How  do  you  know  so 
much?" 

"Oh,  I  saw  the  published  report,"  interpreting 
the  look,  "you  are  a  brave  boy,"  pinching  the 
small  hand  he  still  held  clasped  in  his. 

"You  are  not  afraid  of  me  now,  are  you?"  he 
said  to  the  little  girl. 

"No,  sir,  not  a  mite.  At  first  I  was,  you  looked 
so  queer." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  a  story — a  real  fairy  story?" 
asked  the  old  gentleman. 

The  heads  of  the  children  nodded  vigorously. 
When  was  there  ever  a  child  that  did  not  love 
stories? 

170 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Well,  climb  upon  my  knee  then." 

There  was  a  general  scrambling  for  position, 
any  remaining  shyness  vanishing  at  the  prospect 
of  the  promised  entertainment. 

"Well,"  commenced  the  narrator,  "years  ago, 
there  lived  a  nobleman  in  a  great  big  castle,  built 
of  solid  stone  hundreds  of  years  before  he  was 
born.  Finally,  after  many  years,  this  big  house 
descended  to  one  son.  This  boy  was  strong  of 
limb  and  possessed  much  beauty  and  grace  of 
person.  He  thought  well  of  his  birth  and  loved 
to  hear  of  the  brave  deeds  and  adventure  of  his  an- 
cestors. This  son  was  educated  at  home  until  he 
became  twenty  years  of  age,  when  he  traveled 
pretty  much  all  over  the  world  during  the  next 
five  years.  He  was  a  proud  and  headstrong  young 
man  and  did,  no  doubt,  a  great  many  foolish 
things  not  entirely  to  his  credit.  He  had,  how- 
ever, many  good  traits  of  character.  If  impulsive, 
he  was  generous ;  if  he  had  limbs  of  iron,  he  never 
crushed  the  weak.  He  studied  the  countries  he 
visited  and  gained  much  valuable  knowledge.  At 
last  he  returned  home.  Couriers,  that  is,  men  had 
been  sent  in  advance  to  tell  of  his  coming.  For 
miles  and  miles  multitudes  of  people  gathered  to 
welcome  his  home  coming.  You  should  have  heard 
the  bell  ringing.  If  it  was  not  the  prodigal's 
return,  and,  my  little  friends,  you  have  heard 
tell  of  that  in  the  Bible,  it  was  the  return  of  an 
171 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

only  son,  who  had  long  been  absent  from  home 
in  strange  lands.  There  came  a  day  when  this 
young  man  fell  in  love,  as  sometime,  my  young 
friends,  you  will  do  when  you  grow  older."  The 
children  looked  at  each  other  across  the  chasm  of 
the  old  man's  knees.  "He  took  his  bride  to  live 
in  the  great  house  of  stone  and  thousands  came 
to  welcome  the  blushing  bride  and  the  happy 
husband.  It  was  a  happy  day."  The  old 
man  closed  his  eyes  and  was  lost  in  reflection. 
"After  a  while  a  little  boy  came,  and  then  a  little 
girl  to  bless  that  home.  They  were  beautiful 
children,  and  the  prattle  of  their  babbling  voices 
is  still  heard  by  the  old  and  cheerless  man,  when 
the  wind  blows  and  the  storm  rages.  The  father 
of  those  sweet  children  was  a  proud  and  am- 
bitious man.  What  his  ancestors  had  done  with 
lance  and  sword,  he  sought  to  do  in  Parliament 
with  the  force  of  argument  and  eloquence.  He 
made  a  great  many  foes,  who  coveted  his  ruin,  who 
feared  and  hated  him;  but  he  always  triumphed 
and  his  fame  spread  until  his  name  became  a  house- 
hold word  in  all  Europe.  But  as  he  prospered  he 
forgot  God. 

"Then  one  day  there  came  a  time  when  the  little 
boy  grew  up  and  had  to  go  away  as  his  father  had 
done  before  him.  He  was  a  fearless  boy,  brave 
and  bold  as  a  lion."  The  old  man's  speech  was 
choked  and  trembling.  "He  was  killed  in  India 
172 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

by  wild  beasts."     The  recital  affected  the  story- 
teller strangely. 

"Then,"  continued  the  narrator,  "the  old  noble- 
man's heart  grew  harder — harder  than  the  stones 
his  fathers  had  quarried  and  built  into  the  walls 
of  the  great  house.  The  blow  killed  the  boy's 
mother.  The  proud  man  buried  her,  his  heart  get- 
ting colder  and  more  flint  like.  He  never  smiled 
any  more.  Pity  was  dead  in  his  bosom.  His 
house  of  dreams  had  been  broken  into  and  the 
treasures  stolen.  He  forgot  his  daughter.  One 
day  she  came  and  told  of  her  marriage  to  a  poor 
curate.  Then  this  wicked  man  lifted  his  hand 
against  his  little  girl  and  drove  her  from  the  cas- 
tle. He  became  mad  after  that.  Some  days  he 
would  people  the  big  courts  and  battlements  with 
knights  wearing  armor  and  steel  mail,  their  huge 
plumes  and  battle  axes  waving  and  flashing  in  the 
gleaming  sunlight,  while  the  demented  nobleman 
shouted  orders  against  imaginary  foes.  Again, 
he  would  walk  the  silent  halls,  calling  into  the 
empty  chambers  for  his  wife  and  children.  God 
had  punished  him  terribly  for  his  pride  and  in- 
solence. After  years  of  darkness  a  letter  came 
across  the  sea,  telling  of  the  deaths  of  his  daugh- 
ter and  her  husband  in  the  City  of  New  York. 
That  cruel  letter  also  told  of  a  son,  Clarence,  who 
was  left  an  orphan  and  without  any  money  or 
friends.  Then  the  old  nobleman,  whose  mind  and 
173 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

body  had  recovered,  sailed  on  a  big  ship  to  get. 
his  grandson  and  bring  him  home.  Upon  his 
arrival  he  found  where  his  daughter  had  lived  and 
where  his  little  grandson  was  born.  There  was  no 
trace  of  the  child.  All  that  could  be  learned  of 
the  boy  was  that  an  elderly  lady  had,  through 
pity  or  some  other  motive,  taken  charge  of  him. 
The  old  nobleman  offered  rewards  almost  princely 
for  information  that  would  lead  to  the  restoration 
of  his  grandchild.  There  is  no  city  in  the  United 
States  of  any  importance  that  has  not  been  can- 
vassed by  able  police,  looking  for  the  little  heir, 
who  belongs  way  over  the  ocean,  and,  who,  some- 
time when  he  grows  up,  should  live  in  the  home  of 
his  fathers.  Yes,  the  sorrows  of  the  old  man  had 
softened  his  heart,  and  he  sent  messengers  every- 
where to  find  and  bring  to  him  the  lost  boy;  but 
the  messengers  returned  with  no  tidings.  At  last 
the  broken  down  and  humbled  old  man  asked  Gccl 
to  spare  his  life  until  the  child  of  his  daughter 
was  restored  to  his  birthright.  Remorse  and 
trouble  had  broken  the  stubborn  will.  He  was 
reconciled  to  God,  and  able  to  say,  'Thy  will,  and 
not  mine,  be  done.' ' 

Again  the  story-teller  paused  so  long  the  silence 
became  oppressive. 

"Didn't  he  find  the  boy  ever?"  asked  the  girl, 
her  breathless  suspense  and  curiosity  no  longer  able 
to  bear  the  silence. 

174 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Yes,"  it  was  a  monosyllable. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad !"  cried  the  girl,  clapping  her 
dimpled  hands  at  imminent  risk  of  losing  her 
equilibrium,  and  toppling  from  her  perch. 

Tears  were  streaming  from  the  old  man's  eyes. 
He  drew  the  boy  convulsively  to  his  breast. 

"Forgive  me !     My  child,  forgive  me !" 

"Grandfather!"  breathed  the  boy  in  aspi- 
rates. 

Oh,  mysterious  law !  force !  nature !  sublime  phe- 
nomenon, that  baffles  science,  that  flashes  recog- 
nition along  magnetic  wires  concealed  in  fibres  of  a 
common  origin,  until  there  bursts  upon  the  sentient 
being  spontaneity  of  knowledge!  Oh,  occult  pas- 
sages— winding  labyrinths  of  the  soul,  where  in- 
finite vision  beholds  the  purple  bonds  of  consan- 
guinity ! 

Mr.  Richards,  accompanied  by  his  wife  and 
daughter  entered  the  room  at  this  critical  junc- 
ture. They  paused  abruptly  at  the  strange  scene. 
The  banker  concealed  his  surprise,  and  conducting 
the  ladies  to  Lord  Howe  who  had  risen  and  dashed 
away  the  tears  from  his  still  moist  eyes,  said: 

"Lord  Howe,  let  me  introduce  my  wife,  Mrs. 
Richards,  and  my  daughter,  Mrs.  Eldridge." 

The  old  gentleman  bowed  chivalrously,  then,  ac- 
cording to  some  sudden  impulse,  he   caught  the 
hand  of  the  boy,  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richards  and  Mrs. 
Eldridge,  it  gives  me  great  pleasure  in  presenting 
175 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

to  you  my  grandson,  Clarence  Clark,  a  future  peer 
of  England." 

Their  surprise  changed  to  astonishment;  ands 
seated  together  after  the  evening  meal,  they 
listened  late  into  the  night  to  the  same  story,  re- 
peated differently,  that  had  been  told  to  the  child- 
ren, now  slumbering  in  their  beds. 


176 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Lord  Howe  continued  at  The  Spines.  The  pos- 
session of  his  grandson  had  produced  a  wonderful 
rejuvenation.  He  was  delighted  with  the  char- 
acter of  the  boy,  developed,  to  be  sure,  but  imper- 
fectly under  the  crude  environments  of  his  young 
life.  The  lad's  nature  was  open,  frank  and  af- 
fectionate. The  new  found  relatives  were  united 
by  the  strongest  ties  of  devotion.  The  old  gentle-5 
man  could  not  suffer  the  boy  out  of  sight,  while 
the  little  fellow,  on  his  part,  conceived  for  his 
grandparent  the  warmest  attachment. 

Banker  Richards  and  the  Englishman  soon  es- 
tablished themselves  upon  the  rarely  privileged 
terms  of  familiarity.  The  regard  for  each  other 
was  mutual.  Their  tastes,  in  many  respects,  were 
not  dissimilar.  Both  had  been  close  students,  each 
in  his  special  sphere.  What  Banker  Richards  did 
not  understand  about  finances  was  hardly  worth 
knowing,  his  opinion  being  usually  accepted  as 
final  upon  the  subject  among  his  intimate  ac- 
quiantances,  while  men  in  public  position  frequent- 
ly consulted  him,  availing  themselves  of  his  valu- 
able knowledge. 

Lord  Howe  had  been  actively  engaged  in 
177 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

[English  politics  the  greater  part  of  his  life,  and 
was  especially  informed  upon  international  law. 
He  was  a  veritable  encyclopedia  upon  treaty  rights 
and  obligations.  Thus,  the  conversation  of  the 
two  men  embraced  subjects  possessing  a  charm  for 
both.  They  would  sit  on  the  veranda  in  the  cool 
of  the  summer  days,  smoking  choice  brands  of  Ha- 
vanas,  enjoying  each  other's  society. 

Lord  Howe  had  been  at  The  Spines  a  fortnight. 
It  had  been  settled  that  he  should  remain  the  guest 
of  Mrs.  Eldridge  and  her  parents  a  few  weeks, 
when  they  should  sail  for  England  together.  Alice 
had  long  contemplated  a  visit  to  her  dear  friend, 
Countess  Ratcliff,  but  her  father  had  postponed 
his  going,  upon  one  pretext  or  another.  It  was 
largely  due  to  the  persuasion  of  Lord  Howe,  that 
the  banker  had  eventually  promised  to  accompany 
his  wife  and  daughter  at  the  early  date  appointed ; 
a  circumstance  for  which  both  ladies  were  very 
grateful. 

In  the  meantime  the  whereabouts  of  the  old 
lady,  who  had  cared  for  Clarence,  when  a  child, 
had  been  discovered,  and  certain  articles,  belong- 
ing to  his  mother,  restored,  which  removed  all 
doubts,  if  any  existed,  of  his  parentage. 

"Papa,"  said  Alice  one  evening,  interrupting 
their  discourse,  "mamma  and  I  have  stood  this 
sort  of  thing  as  long  as  we  propose  to  do.     I  de- 
clare when  two  very  wise  and  old  men  get  to  be 
178 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

cronies,  there  is  no  telling  where  it  will  end.  Don'ti 
you  think  so?"  sitting  down  by  the  side 
of  the  nobleman  and  beaming  up  into  his 
face. 

"I  do  believe  wisdom  vanishes  at  the  approach! 
of  such  loveliness,"  said  Lord  Howe,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  "my  heart  hasn't  fluttered  so  in  sixty 
years." 

"There,  that  is  different.  Don't  you  think  this 
is  nicer  than  talking  outlandish  disquisitions 
about  treaties  and  treasuries?" 

"How  vain  are  regrets !"  discharging  a  volumin- 
ous sigh  at  the  fair  divinity  at  his  side. 

"I  treasure  the  compliments  of  aged  gentle- 
men." 

"The  cause  of  preference,  please?" 

"Antiquities  are  of  historical  value ;  besides  sun- 
sets are  always  beautiful." 

"A  meeting  of  the  grim  past  and  the  dimmer 
present,  eh?  Still,  truly  now,  don't  you  think 
the  old  man  is  less  apt  to  cast  his  pearls  where 
they  are  not  merited?" 

"Why  think  at  all,  if  one  is  happy?"  com- 
placently. 

"Well,  you  come  to  be  amused,  and,  for  want  of 
a  better,  an  old  man's  adulation  is  acceptable  di- 
version." 

"Mother,  do  come  here.  Our  English  friend 
and  our  troublesome  daughter  are  playing  shuttle- 
179 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

cock  with  the  'grand  passion,'  "  called  the  banker, 
as  his  wife  appeared  upon  the  scene. 

"Mamma,  stocks  are  taken  a  fall  and  treaties 
are  abandoned." 

"Well,"  said  the  prudent  lady,  "let  the  spindles 
fly,  the  end  justifies  the  means." 

"Mamma,  I  have  made  a  discovery.  Lord  Howe 
was  a  great  gallant  in  his  day." 

"Nor  has  he  outlived  his  gallantry,"  said  that 
gentleman,  trying  to  harpoon  the  tiny  toe  of  a 
little  boot,  peeping  from  beneath  somebody's 
skirts,  with  the  point  of  his  ebony  walking  stick. 

"Sit  here  mother,"  said  the  banker,  placing  an 
India  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  as  the  lady  ac- 
cepted the  invitation,  "we  can  better  watch 
maneuvers  from  this  vantage  ground." 

"Now,  seeing  you  are  both  amiable  once  more," 
said  Alice,  rising  and  entering  the  library,  return- 
ing quickly,  "I  wish  to  see  you  enjoying  fresh 
cigars.  There  is  a  sociability  in  the  weed,"  offer- 
ing one  to  the  nobleman,  and  shaking  the  extin- 
guished stub  from  her  father's  fingers.  "Mamma 
and  I  are  not  so  sure  of  our  victory  over  the 
'change' — and — what  do  you  call  it — the  'Treaty 
of  Ghent,'  so  you  may  smoke  as  one  of  the  con- 
ditions of  the  armistice." 

Lord  Howe  did  not  light  his  cigar. 

"Here,  sir,  is  a  lucifer,"  said  Alice,  extending  a 
match  to  the  nobleman.  "Now,  aren't  you  glad 
180 


'Curdling  and  Vengeful " 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

you  did  not  pierce  my  toe,  else  I  would  not  have 
brought  this  'pipe  of  peace?' ' 

"I  say,  Friend  Richards,  we  are  vanquished." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  banker,  "I  capit- 
ulated nigh  thirty  years  ago." 

There  was  something  so  homelike  and  attractive 
in  the  picture,  that  the  happiness  of  the  charmed 
circle  was  contagious. 

"Mr.  Richards,"  said  the  nobleman  earnestly, 
"you  should  be  the  happiest  man  in  Christen- 
dom." 

"I  am,"  said  that  gentleman,  laconically.  The 
light  in  Mrs.  Richards'  eyes  was  heavenly. 

"When  I  don't  torment  him,"  said  Alice,  fasten- 
ing a  rose  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 

"You  do  drop  pebbles  into  my  pool  of  bliss." 

"But  the  ripples,  papa,  are  always  catching  the 
rays  of  the  sunbeams." 

"Pretty  much,"  concealing  her  face  in  a  wreath 
of  smoke. 

"I  shall  never  doubt  again  that  Nero  fiddled 
while  Rome  burned,"  said  Alice,  pensively,  emerg- 
ing from  the  cloud. 

"Come  and  sit  by  me,"  said  Lord  Howe,  "and 
we  shall  plot  a  conspiracy." 

"Curdling  and  vengeful?" 

"Vengeful  and  curdling." 

"Hint  it  to  me.     Now,  mind,  a  real  cabal." 

"Lean  forward."  The  nobleman  whispered 
181 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

something  in  her  ear,  and,  despite  the  farce,  the 
face  and  throat  of  Alice  colored  profusely. 
Laughing  lightly  she  asked: 

"A  widower?" 

"Yes." 

"Young  and  good  looking?" 

"Yes." 

"Rich  and  a  baronet?" 

"Yes." 

"The  combination  is  good.  Character  and 
habits  average?" 

"Unexceptionable." 

"Papa,"  pointing  her  finger  at  him  menac- 
ingly, "you  must  abdicate." 

"Mother,  see!"  said  the  banker,  "she  blushes. 
Brutus  was  pale  when  he  stabbed  Caesar." 

"But  Cassius  was  flushed,"  smiled  the  noble- 
man. 

At  this  somewhat  critical  moment  for  Alice,  who 
should  appear  but  the  children.  The  future  peer 
of  England  in  derogation  of  his  budding  titles, 
was  leading  a  Shetland  pony,  upon  which  was  de- 
murely seated  a  very  young  and  vivacious  lady, 
enjoying  the  homage  of  boy  and  beast  with  ill- 
disguised  satisfaction.  Upon  seeing  themselves 
observed,  the  youngsters  made  an  unsuccessful  at- 
tempt to  escape,  but  were  intercepted  by  the  chal- 
lenge : 

"Come  up  to  the  veranda,  where  the  accomplish- 
182 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ments    of    the    young    equestrienne    may    be    ad- 
mired." 

The  young  gentleman  did  not  fail  to  notice  the 
displeasure  of  his  partner,  but,  after  a  second's  re- 
flection, he  submitted  to  "the  powers  that  be"  and 
led  the  pony  forward.  Madge  pursed  her  pretty 
lips  at  this  wholesale  abandonment  of  dignity  and 
remained  silent  as  a  sphinx  during  the  inspection 
of  her  recently  acquired  attainments. 

"Well,"  said  the  banker,  "you  are  riding  fa- 
mously." 

"She  has  only  had  the  pony  a  week,"  said  Ker 
mother,  proudly. 

"Come,  my  lady,  don't  be  sullen,  you'll  be  a 
great  horsewoman  some  day,"  said  the  nobleman. 

"That's  what  I  tell  her,  too,"  put  in  the  boy, 
delighted  at  the  favorable  mention. 

"One  can't  learn  to  ride  when  the  pony  wants 
to  nibble  at  every  rosebud  in  the  yard,"  said  the 
object  of  conversation,  far  from  being  mollified 
by  her  flatterers. 

"You  must  use  your  riding  whip,"  said  her 
grandfather. 

Unconcerned  at  this  allusion  to  the  formidable 
riding  whip,  which  the  young  lady  flourished  over 
the  pony's  neck,  that  bit  of  barnyard  furniture 
began  picking  at  the  tender  lawn  grass  daintily, 
adding  greatly  to  the  chagrin  of  its  rider  by  this 
fresh  evidence  of  disrespect." 
183 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"May  we  go  now  ?"  asked  the  boy,  seeking  to  re- 
lieve his  companion's  embarrassment. 

"Yes,  trudge  along,"  said  the  banker,  mis- 
chievously. 

But  the  pony  was  too  much  attached  to  tlie  sav- 
ory grass  to  respond  promptly  to  the  somewhat 
peremptory  jerk  of  the  leather  thong  held  in  the 
boy's  hand,  expressing  its  disapproval  of  the  pro- 
posed departure  by  a  swish  of  the  bushy  tail  that 
was  an  uncompromising  foe  to  the  swarms  off 
pestiferous  flies. 

Madge  began  resolutely  to  administer  a  succes- 
sion of  staccato  taps  with  her  whip,  at  which  the 
pony  protested  by  more  decided  movements  of  the 
appendage  in  question. 

Clarence  was  disgusted  with  such  gluttony,  and, 
taking  the  strap  firmly  in  his  hand,  he  delivered 
such  a  stinging  rebuke  on  the  nose  of  the  pony, 
that  the  Shetland  quadruped  was  brought  to  a 
proper  realization  of  its  obligations  to  society,  and, 
still  munching  the  last  greedy  mouthful,  the  di- 
minutive bit  of  horse  flesh  followed  submissively  at 
the  heels  of  the  youth. 

"He  is  both  docile  and  obstinate,  like  some 
women  I  know,"  glancing  at  his  daughter,  sig- 
nificantly. 

"I  am  glad  the  tyrant's  reign  of  tantalizing  is 
nearly  over — good  looking,  character  and  habits 
average,  and  a  baronet.  My  Lord,  do  you  wonder 
184 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

at  my  decision  to  consider  your  proposition  of  the 
baronetcy?"  Alice  replied  to  her  father  in  this 
manner. 

"I  feel  called  upon,"  replied  the  nobleman,  "to 
follow  the  worthy  example  of  an  illustrious  general, 
who,  finding  himself  unexpectedly  between  two 
fires,  lay  down  until  the  firing  ceased.  It  is  a  clear 
case  of  live  coward — dead  hero." 

"Very  well,  if  my  confederate  abandons  me,  I 
shall  seek  safety  in  flight.  Say,  that  general  must 
have  been  the  one  of  whom  it  is  said,  'He  was  in- 
visible in  war,  invincible  in  peace.' ' 

The  next  moment  her  clear  voice,  mingled  with 
the  deepening  shadows  of  approaching  night, 
flooded  the  veranda.  Song  followed  song  out 
through  the  open  doors  and  windows  to  greet  the 
moonbeams,  and  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  her  hear- 
ers. The  Englishman  arose  and  earner  to  the  win- 
dow, where  he  stood  silently  watching  and  listen- 
ing, moved  as  he  had  seldom  been  by  a  voice.  Alice 
was  oblivious  of  the  admiration  she  was  exciting. 
Her  soul  lingered  in  the  silvery  cadences  issuing 
from  her  birdlike  throat. 

"She  sings  as  though  possessed,"  mused  the 
Englishman,  "she  has  a  wonderful  voice." 

Clarence  and  Madge  tip-toed  into  the  room  and 
sat  down  quietly. 

"I  love  to  hear  mamma  sing." 

The  boy's  eyes   were  sparkling. 
185 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Finally  the  fingers  rested;  the  lips  closed.  The 
woman's  eyes  were  moist. 

Fate  had  been  generous  to  Alice  Eldridge  in 
the  world's  sense  of  indulgence.  Birth,  fortune, 
beauty,  even  to  idealism,  are  gifts  rarely  vouch- 
safed to  one  person. 

Above  the  piano  was  a  replica  of  Max  Schmidt's 
famous  painting  "Solitude."  The  soul  lit  eyes  of 
the  singer  rested  dreamily  upon  the  landscape. 
Years  ago  a  boyish  lover  had  given  it.  Where  was 
he?  Was  it  true  that  he  loved  her  still?  The 
shadows  of  nightfall  flitted  over  the  painting,  in- 
vesting its  quiet  shades  with  still  deeper  gloom. 
The  past  rushes  upon  us  unawares.  Instinctively 
her  fingers  swept  over  the  ivory  keys,  and,  with 
eyes  glowing  with  some  strange  light,  still  fixed 
upon  the  landscape,  she  sang  the  song — the  "old 
song,"  the  "our  song"  of  long  ago. 


Oh,  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast, 

On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea, 
My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt, 

I'd  shelter  thee,  I'd  shelter  thee; 
Or  did  misfortune's  bitter  storms 

Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw, 
Thy  shield  should  be  my  bosom, 

To  share  it  a%  to  share  it  a'. 

186 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Or  were  I  in  the  wildest  waste, 

Sae  black  and  bare,  sae  black  and  bare, 
The  desert  were  a  paradise 

If  thou  wert  there,  if  thou  wert  there ; 
Or  were  I  monarch  of  the  globe, 

Wi'  thee  to  reign,  wi'  thee  to  reign, 
The  brightest  jewel  in  my  crown 

Wad  be  my  queen,  wad  be  my  queen. 


"My  little  song  bird,"  said  her  father,  placing 
an  arm  around  the  waist  of  his  daughter,  tenderly, 
"are  you  trying  to  make  us  weep  ?" 

Alice  laughed  gayly  or  hysterically ;  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  decide  which. 

"A  woman  should  never  laugh  immediately  af- 
ter singing,"  mused  the  nobleman. 

"Oh,  papa,"  exclaimed  Alice,  breaking  in  upon 
the  reflections  her  song  had  aroused,  "I  had  nearly 
forgotten !  We  are  likely  to  have  a  new  enterprise 
in  our  summer  retreat.  Mr.  Jones^  a  would-be 
Dana,  asked  me  to  consult  your  opinion  upon  the 
advisability  of  the  project;  and,  should  you  think 
favorably  of  the  plan,  he  modestly  requested  me 
by  most  delicate  intimation  to  solicit  a  contribu- 
tion. He  wishes  to  found  a  local  paper  and  is  in 
sore  need  of  funds.  I  told  him,  papa,  that  you 
were  public  spirited  and  would  not  be  outdone  by 
your  daughter.  I  could  do  no  less.  You  have 
187 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

always  encouraged  me  to  be  generous  for  you.  I 
gave  him  my  check  for  two  hundred  dollars." 

"Well,  how  much  ought  I  to  give?  Now  look 
here,  none  of  your  putting  on  airs.  You  just  make 
the  figures  decent  and  respectable." 

"Don't  fear,  I'll  make  them  respectable,  and  I 
never,  never,  never  will  cross  you  again."  Then 
quickly  she  reached  the  solution  that  gave  her 
infinite  satisfaction.  "Suppose  you  advance  two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  on  subscription." 

"You  are  dreadfully  considerate — this  paying 
for  literature  two  centuries  in  advance;  but  I'm 
agreed. 

"We  may  have  to  come  to  his  assistance,  now 
and  then,  you  know,  until  the  paper  is  on  a  paying 
basis,"  explained  Alice,  preparing  a  way  for  future 
subsidies. 

"You  manage  it  and  draw  on  me  for  my  share," 
said  the  banker,  who,  having  some  village  prop- 
erty, was  quite  taken  with  the  idea. 

"Put  this  down  for  me,"  said  the  Englishman, 
placing  a  bill  of  the  two  hundred  dollar  denomi- 
nation in  the  hands  of  the  surprised  newspaper 
advocate. 

"You!"  exclaimed  Alice,  greatly  astonished. 

"Certainly,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  enterprise 

of  American  publishers,  in  all  likelihood  I  should 

never  have  found  that  boy  yonder.     By  the  way, 

have  I  ever  told  you  that   the  account   of  your 

188 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

daughter's  adventure  in  the  Sinnemahoning,  as 
published  in  the  North  American,  was  the  means  of 
my  finding  him.  I  have  the  clipping  here,"  taking 
the  paper  indicated  from  his  pocketbook  and  hand- 
ing it  to  her.  Alice  reached  for  it  eagerly.  She 
had  not  seen  the  article. 

"Don't  for  pity  sake  tear  it,"  said  the  noble- 
man as  a  caution  to  her  haste.  "If  anything 
should  befall  that  paper,  Edward  Reynolds  would 
have  a  paralytic  stroke." 

As  the  name  was  pronounced  the  clipping  from 
the  North  American  fell  from  the  woman's  fingers, 
encircling  her  lithe  figure  in  its  fluttering,  clinging 
descent  to  the  floor.  Lord  Howe  stooped,  and 
picking  up  the  piece  of  paper,  returned  it  to  her. 

"Edward  Reynolds,  did  you  say?"  inquired  the 
banker. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Englishman.  "Do  you  know 
him?  He  is  an  American  by  birth,  and  a  nobler 
man  never  breathed  the  breath  of  life."  The 
Englishman  spoke  warmly.  Alice  moved  away  to 
the  window,  ostensibly  to  get  more  light,  her  heart 
beating  wildly. 

"We  know,  or  rather  knew  an  Edward  Reyn- 
olds," said  the  banker.  In  fact,  an  Edward 
Reynolds  came  near  being  my  son-in-law  once  upon 
a  time.  What  say  you,  Alice,  eh?"  But  Alice 
glided  from  the  room  without  answering. 

"Please,  papa,  why  do  you  torment  the  child 
189 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

any    more    to-night?"    put    in    Mrs.    Richards. 

"Was  there  a  love  affair  between  Edward 
Reynolds  and  your  daughter?"  questioned  the  no- 
bleman, deliberately. 

"A  boy  and  girl  engagement  was  all.  Edward 
was  nineteen  and  Alice  was  in  short  dresses.  They 
were  very  devoted,"  said  the  banker,  lightly. 

"So  Reynolds  loved  your  daughter.  I  under- 
stand at  last."  He  measured  his  words  as  men 
do  when  pronouncing  judgment. 

"Yes,  and  Alice  loved  him,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Richards. 

"No!"  exclaimed  Lord  Howe,  solemnly,  "no 
woman  ever  loved  Edward  Reynolds  to  afterward 
love  another  man." 

Alice  in  the  adjoining  room  had  listened  to 
every  word.  There  was  condemnation — bitterness, 
even,  in  the  voice  of  the  nobleman,  and  something 
cried  out  in  vindication  within  her  "I  never  have — 
I  never  have!" 

"Will  you  tell  us  about  him?"  asked  Mrs.  Rich- 
ards. "This  is  the  first  we  have  heard  of  him  for 
many  years,  and  we  were  very  fond  of  the  young 
man." 

Lord  Howe  related  all  he  knew  of  Edward 
Reynolds'  life,  while  Alice,  creeping  to  the  door, 
drank  in  the  words  as  they  fell  from  the  old  man's 
lips.  How  her  pulse  quickened  as  the  narrator 
told  of  Reynolds'  interview  with  the  Queen.  The 
190 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

Sovereign  had  summoned  him  to  her  side,  and 
praised  his  work,  and  even  asked  permission  to  ac- 
knowledge her  gratitude  by  royal  favor,  which  he 
had  declined.  Parliament  had  voted  funds,  which 
were  returned.  It  was  her  Edward — the  Edward 
of  olden  times,  that  had  stood  in  her  presence  but 
yesterday — no,  seven  long  years  ago — inquiring 
calmly — proudly:  "Alice,  you  are  sure  your  heart 
and  happiness  ask  this  sacrifice  of  me?"  and  she 
had  answered  "yes."  Oh,  how  cold  his  fingers, 
when  he  raised  her  hand  in  parting  to  his  lips — 
how  cold  his  lips — her  Edward!  Those  cold 
fingers  were  tearing  her  heart  to-night. 

Finally  the  Englishman  ceased  speaking.  Long 
afterwards  Alice  heard  her  parents  leaving  the 
room.  Then  she  pressed  the  paper  to  her  bosom 
for  one  swift  moment,  and,  entering  the  room,  ap- 
proached the  nobleman.  She  felt  his  great  resent- 
ful eyes  fixed  searchingly  upon  her  face.  She  held 
the  paper  out  to  him  with  her  hand  trembling 
visibly.  He  took  it  coldly. 

"Good  night,  Lord  Howe."  She  was  moving  to- 
ward the  door. 

"Good    ni ,     Stay!"       He    came    to    her. 

"When  a  little  girl,  did  you  once  pay  the  fine  of 
a  small  boy,  who  had  been  convicted  of  some 
trifling  offense,  rather  than  see  the  lad  cast  in 
prison?" 

"Yes." 

191 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

"And  was  that  boy  afterwards  employed  in  your 
father's  bank?" 

"Yes,  he's  there  now,  assistant  cashier." 

"And  did  Edward  Reynolds  see  you  do  it,  was 
he  with  you  at  the  time?" 

"Yes." 

Lord  Howe  stood  contemplating  the  woman  be- 
fore him  intently. 

"Why   do  you   ask?" 

"He  told  me  the  story.  He  gave  the  circum- 
stance as  the  foundation  upon  which  his  life's  work 
rests.  In  England's  name,  madam,  I  .am  to  thank 
you  for  dedicating  to  her  glory  the  life  of  one  of 
the  noblest,  grandest  men  God  ever  created."  The 
eyes  of  the  woman  were  downcast,  studying  the 
fantastic  figures  woven  in  the  Persian  carpet. 

"My  lord  speaks  in  parables,"  she  replied  with- 
out raising  her  eyes. 

"But  your  heart  interprets,"  he  said,  bitterly. 
She  made  no  response.  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
madam.  I  have  no  right  to  criticise.  There  was 
a  mystery  about  Edward  Reynolds  that  I  failed 
to  fathom.  I  attributed  it  to  all  causes  but  the 
right  one."  After  a  brief  pause,  he  continued, 
"Who  should  have  thought  that  any  woman  could 
help  loving  a  man  like  him.  He  is  so  rich  in  all 
that  manliness  and  grace  women  admire.  It 
seems,  however,  I  was  mistaken.  Mrs.  Eldridge," 
he  added,  slowly,  "if  you  value  your  peace  of 
192 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

mind,  never  look  again  upon  the  face  of  Edward 
Reynolds." 

Alice  had  bitten  her  lip.  The  blood  had  a  pun- 
gent taste.  As  the  old  man  ceased  speaking,  she 
lifted  a  pair  of  gleaming  eyes  to  his  serious  face, 
while  ripples  of  light  laughter  broke  from  her 
coral  lips.  Lord  Howe  raised  his  hand — the  hand 
still  clasping  the  clipping  of  the  North  American 
— in  involuntary  protest,  and,  as  he  did  so,  a 
garnet  drop  was  blown  with  peals  of  merriment 
from  those  smiling  lips,  falling  upon  the  piece 
of  paper,  dividing  into  a  hundred  crimson  specks. 

"Where  did  that  blood  come  from?"  he  de- 
manded, examining  the  stains. 

"Is  it  blood?"  asked  Alice,  "please  give  it  me," 
extending  her  hand  for  the  paper,  which  the 
Englishman  still  retained.  "Please,  Lord  Howe!" 
There  was  passionate  entreaty  in  those  pleading 
eyes.  "I  will  get  you  another — a  new  one — if  it 
costs " 

"Your  lip  is  bleeding,  madam,  have  you  hurt 
it?"  He  was  studying  her  impenetrable  face 
closely. 

"No !  no !    Why  do  you  not  give  me  the  paper?" 

"My  pledge  has  been  given  to  return  it." 

"But  HE  will  not  care,  if  I — if  you  find  another 
in  its  stead." 

"You  still  wish  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  him," 
said  Lord  Howe,  steadily.  "Answer  me,  please, 
193 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

first,  why  do  you  plead  for  this  particular  paper?" 

"Because,"  she  hesitated. 

"  'Because'  is  a  woman's  reason." 

"All  the  more  reason  why  you  should  respect 
it." 

"I  am  awaiting  your  answer." 

"I  cannot  tell  you." 

"I  know." 

"Very  well,  if  you  know  I  have  nothing  to 
answer." 

"I  am  not  superstitious,"  said  Lord  Howe.  "I 
never  had  patience  for  the  supernatural;  but  I 
believe  heaven  wills  that  globule  of  blood  upon  this 
paper  for  a  purpose,  and  I  am  not  satisfied  to  let 
a  woman's  caprice  aid,  in  the  smallest  measure,  to 
defeat  God's  plan.  You  want  this,"  glancing  at 
the  paper,  "to  destroy  it.  I  have  every  confidence, 
if  I  give  it  to  you  that  you  would  either  secure 
another  or  return  this  to  me.  Listen !  Mr.  Reyn- 
olds came  to  my  home  a  few  weeks  ago  at  my 
earnest  invitation.  At  that  interview  I  begged  him 
to  take  what  amounts  to  a  vast  fortune  and  use  it, 
as  he  saw  fit,  in  his  college.  It  was  to  be  in  the 
nature  of  an  endowment.  He  emphatically  re- 
fused to  oblige  me.  This,  of  course,  was  at  a 
time  when  I  believed  my  grandchild  dead.  In 
urging  upon  him  the  acceptance  of  the  bequest  it 
became  necessary  to  acquaint  him  with  a  portion 
of  the  sad  history  of  my  life.  When,  during  the 
194 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

narrative,  I  mentioned  my  daughter's  marriage 
and  death,  and  the  birth  of  a  child,  Clarence,  my 
guest  produced  this  clipping  from  his  wallet.  I 
supposed  he  treasured  the  keepsake  because  it 
strengthened  his  theory  in  relating  to  a  great 
and  heroic  deed  by  a  boy  belonging  to  a  class  in 
which  he  is  interested.  True,  I  was  mistaken. 
He  preserved  that  talisman  for  other  reasons. 
Well,  at  any  rate,  when  I  asked  the  loan  of  the 
clipping,  he  exacted  the  promise  that  I  would  re- 
turn it  to  him.  Upon  my  arrival  home,  when  he 
demands  an  account  of  my  stewardship,  madam, 
is  it  your  pleasure,  as  he  points  to  the  blackened 
spots,  that  I  tell  him  it  is  a  drop  of  blood,  shiv- 
ered into  tiny  atoms  from  the  bleeding  lips  of  a 
lady,  convulsed  in  scornful  ridicule  over  the  sa- 
cred memory  in  which  a  certain  man  continues  to 
regard  a  boy  and  girl  attachment?" 

"Who    says    the    English    never    joke?"    cried 
Alice  ecstatically. 

"Do  you  credit  me  with  jesting?" 
"Are  you  ever  serious,  my  lord?" 
"You  make  me  regret  that  I  am  so." 
Alice  Eldridge  burst  out  laughing.     The  next 
moment  she  was  singing  in  imitation  of  vaudeville: 

How  vain  are  regrets  that  vex  and  torment  us, 
And  leave  the  heart  heavy  with  anguish  in- 
stead ; 

195 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

So    chase    them    away    with    gay    song    and 

laughter, 

Remembering    the    pleasing,    forgetting    the 
dread. 

'Oh,  regrets  that  are  vain,  regrets  that  are  vain, 
Bring  pain  to  the  heart,  bring  pain,  forever 
pain.' 

As  Alice  sang,  Lord  Howe  regarded  her  in 
amazement,  her  superb  voice  thrilling  him  as  it 
rose  and  wavered  above  the  peaks  of  pathos.  Then 
the  woman  was  laughing  in  his  face,  the  very  in- 
carnation of  Hebe. 

"Give  it  me." 

"No!"     His  face  was  saturnine. 

"Good-night,  my  lord.  You'll  be  sorry  some- 
time," she  trilled  back,  vanishing. 

"Is  she  a  woman,  a  devil,  or  just  an  enigma?" 
muttered  the  Englishman. 


196 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

"PHILADELPHIA,  June  10,  1859. 
"Countess  De  Ratcliff , 

"Paris. 

"Dear  Eleanore: — Only  one  more  week,  and  we 
board  the  great  Trans- Atlantic  steamer  for  Eu- 
rope. I  shall  count  the  hours  as  days  until  I  see 
you,  darling  Eleanore.  A  rest  in  your  arms  will 
do  me  a  world  of  good.  Mind!  I  want  a  real 
old-fashioned,  schoolgirl  hug.  I  am  famishing 
for  one.  We  all  get  tired  sometimes,  don't  you 
think?  And  the  weariness  of  satiety  is  the  greatest 
weariness  of  all.  I  was  wondering  just  a  moment 
ago  what  we  would  do  if  we  possessed  the  option 
to  go  back  to  some  remote  period  in  our  lives  to 
live  the  years  over  again.  Would  we  venture  to 
do  so,  to  cross  the  river  Lethe,  back  to  childhood? 
No.  Would  we  welcome  again  the  school  days? 
I  should  be  tempted  sorely  here;  but,  after  all,  I 
should  reach  the  same  negative  decision.  If 
to-day  is  happy,  mortals  would  eternize  it,  the 
sun  should  never  set;  if  it  be  sad,  they  would  in- 
vert the  hour-glass.  So  we  come  to  acknowledge 
the  wisdom  of  God's  plan  as  the  best. 

"What  a  crazy-quilt  of  a  letter  I  am  commenc- 
197 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ing  on  the  eve  of  our  departure  to  your  sunny 
France ! 

"You  remember  Clarence  Clark,  the  boy  who 
rescued  Madge  from  drowning?  You  did  not 
dream  I  was  entertaining  nobility  in  him,  did  you? 
He  is  the  grandson  and  heir  of  Lord  Howe,  a 
peer  of  England.  The  old  nobleman  is  here  with 
us.  He  saw  the  account  of  the  adventure  in  the 
Philadelphia  papers,  and  came  to  take  his  grand- 
son home.  He  had  supposed  the  boy  was  dead, 
until  he  saw  the  paragraph.  He  had  canvassed 
all  the  large  cities  in  this  country  to  locate  the 
boy,  and  had  finally  come  to  accept  the  report  of 
the  secret  service  agencies,  that  there  was  no  such 
youth.  What  little  things,  mere  accidents  in 
themselves,  sometimes  give  forecasts  of  the  future ! 
They  embark  with  us,  as  we  voyage  to  Europe. 
Papa  and  the  Englishman  are  inseparable.  In 
fact,  we  are  all  fond  of  the  noble.  He  is  a  de- 
cided improvement  upon  the  dukes  and  lords  and 
English  butterflies  fluttering  around  us  poor 
women  the  past  season.  It  may  be  because  he  is 
older.  He  is  a  trifle  miffed  toward  me  of  late, 
however.  His  coolness  is  due  to  an  imaginary 
injury  I  once  did  a  friend  of  his.  And  the  old 
Fidus  Achetes  is  disposed  to  resent  his  friend's 
grievance.  Have  you  ever  considered  whether  or 
no  we  wrong  others  as  often  as  others  wrong  us? 
Despite  ourselves  we  constitute  a  tribunal  and  sit 
198 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

in  daily  judgment  upon  our  acquaintances;  both 
those  we  love,  as  well  as  those  we  don't  love,  being 
oft-times  damaged  by  the  verdict.  Still,  if  we 
err,  our  prejudices,  more  than  the  rectitude  of  our 
intention,  is  at  fault.  Anyway,  I  like  the  old 
nobleman  for  his  loyalty  to  his  friend.  I  am  not 
etiolating,  however,  by  reason  of  his  neglect,  and 
before  we  part  company  I  shall  take  pains  that 
his  opinion  of  me  improves. 

"I  am  sorry  to  lose  Clarence,  after  learning  to 
love  the  boy  dearly.  He  is  a  brave,  splendid  little 
fellow,  and  so  good  to  Madge.  The  children  will 
be  disconsolate  after  their  separation.  Let  me 
write  you  what  Lord  Howe  said  the  other  evening 
when  we  were  walking  among  the  colonnades  of 
maples  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  as  the  children 
came  home,  swinging  their  locked  hands  joyously: 

"  'Will  they  be  walking  like  that  in  the  evening 
of  their  lives?' 

"  'What  do  you  mean,  my  lord?'  I  inquired. 

"If  he  heard  me,  he  did  not  answer.  He  was 
intently  watching  the  boy  and  girl  as  they  ap- 
proached. Children  soon  forget.  It  is  one  of  the 
privileges  of  childhood,  which  I  find  myself  some- 
times wishing  older  ones  possessed.  Life  reminds 
one  of  a  book.  We  seldom  read  a  history,  travel, 
or  fiction,  but  an  indictment  is  preferred  against 
some  page — the  symmetry  is  marred,  we  think,  by 
an  offending  leaf.  And  it  is  just  a  little  hard  to 
199 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

tell  which  remains  more  fixed  in  the  memory,  the 
page  or  the  book. 

"Really,  you  will  think  I  am  infected  with  mel- 
ancholy microbes.  I  wish  Lord  Howe  had  stayed 
in  England,  where  he  belongs,  with  his  great,  hor- 
rid eyes  that  are  always  probing  for  some  defect. 
Our  aversion  for  each  other  is  becoming  lament- 
ably chronic. 

"Mamma  is  all  excitement;  so  many  things  to 
pack  for  our  stay  abroad.  We  shall  be  absent  a 
year  or  more.  The  dear  soul  is  impatient  to  shake 
American  dust  from  her  feet,  building  even  more 
than  I  upon  the  trip,  aside  from  my  visit  to  you. 

"Dear  me!  Another  interruption!  The  serv- 
ant announces  Rev.  St.  Clair.  He  comes  to  see 
me.  I  shall  finish,  by  and  by.  Can  you  hear  my 
kiss  across  the  Atlantic?  Au  revoir" 

Mrs.  Eldridge  arose  and  received  her  visitor 
gracefully. 

"I  regret  to  have  disturbed  the  pleasure  one 
enjoys  in  letter- writing,"  said  the  minister,  glanc- 
ing in  direction  of  the  escritoire,  upon  which  the 
pen  was  resting,  still  moist  with  ink. 

"Please  be  seated,  Mr.  St.  Clair,"  she  said,  mo- 
tioning him  to  a  chair.  "My  frame  of  mind  is 
anything  but  in  the  mood  of  sharing  your  enthu- 
siasm." 

"I  once  fancied  myself  possessing  an  Emerso- 
200 


nian  style  of  letter-writing,  but  of  late  years  I 
am  skeptical.  In  fact,  I  am  woefully  retrograded. 
Still,  I  am  as  fond  as  ever  of  receiving  letters," 
he  insisted,  bound  not  to  get  away  from  the  sub- 
ject without  claiming  some  excellence. 

"As  we  grow  older  we  become  more  remiss  in 
correspondence,"  Alice  said  with  a  half  sigh. 
"The  unanswered  letter  gathers  dampness,  chill- 
ing the  ardor  of  friendships  which  we  truly  value. 
Sincere  friends  are  always  being  alienated  for  want 
of  punctuality  more  than  intentional  neglect." 

"Is  it  not  probable,"  asked  Rev.  St.  Clair, 
"that  the  increasing  cares  of  life,  by  sheer  force, 
crowd  out  the  more  agreeable  recreations?  We 
have  not  the  leisure,  even  if  we  have  the  disposi- 
tion, to  continue  the  promiscuous  correspondence 
of  our  younger  days.  Why,  I  verily  believe  I 
squandered  half  my  salary  in  postage  stamps." 
It  was  the  only  direct  reference  the  reverend  gen- 
tleman had  ever  made  in  her  presence  to  the  lim- 
ited resources  of  his  early  career. 

Rev.  St.  Clair  was  grateful  for  the  circumstance 
of  the  writing  material.  It  furnished  a  theme  for 
conversation.  We  seldom  commit  ourselves  direct- 
ly to  the  principal  object  of  an  interview.  In- 
stead of  the  conventional  persiflage — nothingism 
— they  had  profited  by  a  bit  of  philosophy  upon  a 
topic  deserving  more  extended  comment  than  the 
purpose  of  this  story  will  permit. 
201 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Mrs.  Eldridge  half  suspected  what  brought  the 
minister  to  her  home.  She  secretly  admitted  in 
the  confessional  of  her  own  heart  that  she  had 
wronged  the  wife  of  the  man  sitting  beside  her. 
More  than  once  she  had  been  at  the  point  of  suing 
for  pardon  before  the  fearless  little  woman,  whose 
offence  was  prompted  by  love  of  her.  It  was  the 
admission  which  the  act  might  proclaim  that  with- 
held her.  She  should  guard  that  secret  at  the  sac- 
rifice of  all  friendships.  She  was  piqued  at  her- 
self in  her  haste  to  quarrel  with  her  friend.  Her 
woman's  quick  intuition  told  her,  all  too  well,  that 
the  truth  had  been  surprised  from  her,  and,  woman 
like,  she  had  hardened  with  the  knowledge.  She 
forgot  that  there  is  no  degradation  in  love.  While 
in  her  secret  soul  she  treasured  the  words  Mrs.  St. 
Clair  had  spoken,  she  persevered  in  her  display  of 
resentment. 

The  silence  became  oppressive.  The  minister 
coughed  diplomatically. 

"I  see  a  press  announcement  that  you  are  going 
abroad,"  he  said. 

"We  expect  to  start  Monday,"  she  replied,  as  a 
matter  of  fact. 

"So  soon?"  After  a  pause,  "I  hope  you  will 
enjoy  your  tour  abroad."  It  troubled  him  to  tell 
her  why  he  was  there. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  very  sweetly. 

Her  amiability  further  disconcerted  him.  Com- 
202 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ing  to  the  house,  he  had  planned  and  digested  a 
dozen  ways  of  introducing  the  subject.  They 
were  all  plausible;  but  now,  when  the  lady  sat  op- 
posite him,  every  prop  appeared  to  slip  out  of 
position. 

A  man  never  should  be  commissioned  to  under- 
take a  matter  of  delicacy.  In  case  an  accomplish- 
ment requires  strength,  violent  exertion  or  physi- 
cal address  and  endurance,  he  may  be  employed 
to  advantage.  His  vis  inertia  is  a  guarantee  of 
success,  but  beware  of  him  in  complications  of  the 
finer  sensibilities.  He  is  sure  to  spoil  it.  If  he  is 
not  coarser  than  woman,  he  is  heavier  in  composi- 
tion. Woman  has  tact;  man  has  force.  Woman 
will  tip  a  crown  of  thorns  with  ingenious  ferrules ; 
man  finds  the  length  of  the  barbs  by  dashing 
against  them. 

"How  shall  I  answer  this?"  he  blurted  out, 
placing  Edward  Reynolds'  letter  before  her. 

It  was  done  no  more  savagely  than  another 
would  have  risked.  A  professor  of  Yale  once 
sounded  a  woman's  reason,  who  was  suspected  of 
dementia,  by  jamming  one  of  Euclid's  problems  at 
her.  Really,  men  are  stupid.  Still,  St.  Clair 
could  overwhelm  you  with  sermons. 

Mrs.  Eldridge  became  white  as  she  recognized 
the  fatal  missile. 

"Just  as  Mr.  St.  Clair  sees  fit  to  notice  such 
impertinence,"  she  answered,  without  flinching. 
203 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

St.  Clair  was  irritated.  "Very  well,"  he  said 
stoically,  "I  shall  toss  both  deeds  into  the  Schuyl- 
kill." 

"Have  you  the  deeds  with  you?"  she  inquired 
serenely. 

"I  have,"  he  replied. 

"I  will  accompany  you  in  a  moment,"  she  said, 
ringing  the  bell  for  her  maid  to  bring  her  wraps. 

"I  am  not  clever,  Mrs.  Eldridge.  What  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"I  intend  to  go  with  you  and  witness  the  bap- 
tism." 

"Then  there  is  nothing  I  can  do  or  say  to  alter 
your  decision  concerning  the  deed  to  Madge?" 

"It  is  quite  irrevocable,  Mr.  St.  Clair." 

"Very  well,  let  us  go,"  he  said  frigidly. 

The  distance  was  several  blocks  to  the  Schuyl- 
kill.  They  walked  in  silence,  finally  entering  upon 
one  of  the  superstructures  spanning  the  river. 
They  halted  over  the  centre  of  the  stream,  lean- 
ing against  the  railing. 

"I  am  waiting,"  she  said  simply. 

He  took  the  deeds  from  his  pocket  irresolutely, 
and,  turning  to  her,  said:  "Mrs.  Eldridge,  by  no 
fault  of  mine  I  am  estranged  from  two  persons 
whose  friendship  I  prize  most  highly;  but  I  can, 
at  least,  retain  my  self-respect  by  this  act  of  dese- 
cra*ion.  The  man  has  been  more  than  father — 
brother — to  me;  the  woman  has  been  a  companion 
204 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

— a  member  of  my  family  almost,  for  years.  But 
she  shall  be  a  party  to  this  vandalism."  He 
placed  in  her  hand  the  deed  in  favor  of  Madge. 
"Now,  when  you  are  ready,  we  will  proceed  with 
the  ceremony." 

She  picked  the  deed  into  small  bits  and  dropped 
the  tiny  pieces  over  the  guard-rail,  which,  in  their 
descent  to  the  dark,  turbid  river  below,  resembled 
huge  snowflakes.  Handful  after  handful  of  the 
mutilated  paper  followed  each  other  over  the  iron 
rail  to  rest  on  the  bosom  of  the  water.  The  man 
watched  the  evident  pleasure  of  her  occupation  a 
moment,  and  then  proceeded  to  join  in  the  sacri- 
lege. As  the  last  torn  fragments  disappeared, 
without  speaking  they  turned  and  retraced  their 
steps  homeward.  Arriving  at  the  entrance  of  her 
residence,  he  bade  the  woman  good-morning, 
neither  expressing  regret  at  what  had  been  done. 

Entering  the  house,  Mrs.  Eldridge  removed  her 
wraps.  As  she  did  so  an  irregular  scroll  fell  to 
the  floor,  a  gust  of  wind  having  carried  it  to 
the  folds  of  her  cloak,  where  it  lodged  until  the 
garment  was  removed.  She  stooped,  picked  up 
the  fragment,  and  turning  it  in  her  hand,  read 
the  name  "Edward  Reynolds."  It  was  the  signa- 
ture and  seal  he  had  affixed  to  the  conveyance.  It 
seemed  to  sting  her  like  the  bite  of  a  serpent,  and 
she  flung  it  from  her  with  all  her  might,  watching 
where  it  fell  and  lay.  Then  she  staggered  to  the 
205 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

place,  and,  falling  upon  her  knees,  reached  for  the 
white  object,  and,  clutching  it  to  her  bosom,  the 
hot  tears  scalded  the  trembling  hands  in  which 
were  clasped  the  name  of  the  man  who,  in  the  dim 
and  buried  past,  had  been  dear  to  her. 

"June  11,  9  A.  M. 

"I  do  not  feel  at  all  epistolary.  June  is  a 
month  of  languor.  The  scent  of  flowers,  hum  of 
bees  and  song  of  birds  steep  the  faculties  in  stupor 
— a  heart's-ease  and  poppy  variety,  so  to  speak. 
As  proof  of  my  devotion,  however,  I  mention  the 
difficulties  of  letter-writing.  Truly,  there  is  some 
perverse  element  in  our  formation  that  lulls  to  sleep, 
while  Nature  revels  in  the  gorgeousness  of  June. 

"Prince,  my  canary,  makes  such  a  commotion 
I  carried  him  off  to  a  rear  porch.  He  took  um- 
brage at  the  treatment,  but  soon  was  the  center 
of  attraction  among  the  feathery  tribes  of  the 
dense  foliage,  because  of  his  ceaseless  song. 
Mamma  has  repeated  the  question  a  dozen  times 
already,  'Have  you  finished  your  letter  to  Countess 
Ratcliff?5  The  faintest  fumes  of  aromatic  to- 
bacco smoke  drift  into  my  room  from  a  near-by 
veranda,  where  papa  and  Lord  Howe  are  in  the 
midst  of  an  argumentative  discussion  upon  a  no 
less  absorbing  and  intricate  topic  than  Cupid's 
pranks  between  foreign  titles  and  American  heir- 
esses. You  will  not  expect  much  of  a  letter  from 
206 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

one  laboring  under  these  disadvantages.  It 
needs  an  inspiration  to  compose  letters,  as  well  as 
to  write  poetry,  and  my  muse  refuses  to  emerge 
from  concealment  at  all  my  blandishments. 

"By  the  way,  the  mayor  of  the  city  gave  a  re- 
ception last  Thursday  night,  in  honor  of  Lord 
Howe.  It  was  a  brilliant  affair,  very  chic  and 
swell.  The  costumes  of  many  ladies  were  bewil- 
dering dreams  of  loveliness.  I  vied  with  the  others 
to  dazzle  his  lordship  and  inspire  him  with  a  be- 
coming appreciation  of  American  women.  There 
were  a  number  of  foreigners  present,  and  your  old 
school  friend  flirted  outrageously  with  them  all, 
but  more  especially  with  his  worshipful  highness, 
the  Duke  of  Berwick.  Lord  Howe  abominates  the 
Duke.  He  can  neither  abide  him  in  his  sight  nor 
out  of  it.  The  old  lord  has  been  so  good  as  to 
acknowledge  his  indebtedness  to  me  for  many 
pleasant  encounters  with  the  man  he  so  thoroughly 
detests.  The  Duke  has  called  twice  since  the  re- 
ception. Each  time,  by  stratagem,  I  have  suc- 
ceeded in  bringing  the  countrymen  together.  The 
Duke  is  hopelessly  involved  in  debt,  and  Lord 
Howe  half  fancies  I  shall  liquidate  the  former's 
obligations.  The  simpleton  himself  has  a  notion 
or  two  that  I  have  similar  charitable  intentions. 
He  is  not  the  first  one  cherished  illusions  of  my 
benevolence.  I  would  like  to  see  a  real  man  once 
more;  one  above  sordidness;  one  that  does  not 
207 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

cringe  and  prostrate  himself  before  every  woman 
of  wealth.  Some  one  has  facetiously  remarked, 
'All  good  men  are  married.'  Perhaps  the  exag- 
geration is  within  bounds. 

"Well,  my  dear  Eleanore,  I  intend  that  you  and 
the  Count  shall  see  enough  of  me  in  this  year  of 
grace,  1859.  My  love  goes  in  advance.  I  know 
you  will  keep  it  in  good  custody  until  I  arrive  in 
person.  Mamma  and  papa  send  regards  to  your- 
self and  Count  Ratcliff,  and  I,  your  old,  old 
friend,  send  floods  of  affection. 

"Lovingly, 

"ALICE." 

Alice  finished  the  letter  at  last,  written  while  so 
many  conflicting  emotions  were  vibrating  upon 
her  heart-strings.  She  had  addressed  the  daintily 
perfumed  envelope  and  directed  her  maid  to  post 
it.  The  letter  was  unsatisfactory.  She  had  been 
on  the  point  of  tearing  it  up  several  times  and  in- 
diting another,  but  her  ideas  were  confused  and 
distracted.  She  watched  it  carried  to  the  letter- 
box with  wretched  misgivings.  As  the  door  closed 
upon  the  servant's  return,  Alice,  dressed  in  a  light 
walking  habit,  entered  the  street.  The  residences 
of  her  father  and  of  St.  Clair  were  not  dis- 
tant, and  she  preferred  to  walk.  Reaching  her 
destination,  the  servant  bore  her  card  to  Mrs.  St. 
Clair,  who  did  not  seem  the  least  bit  surprised. 
208 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

She    knew    Alice    Eldridge    better    than     Alice 
Eldridge  knew  herself. 

Mr.  St.  Clair  had  informed  his  wife  of  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  previous  day,  and,  while  the 
woman  was  a  trifle  too  venal  to  consider  the  fate 
of  the  deeds  without  some  mental  reservation  of  an 
equivocal  character,  she  outwardly  approved  of 
her  husband's  action.  "It  was  the  only  thing  you 
could  do,"  she  had  told  her  husband,  kissing  him. 
That  settled  the  matter  with  Mr.  St.  Clair.  The 
coincidence  of  his  wife's  opinion  was  of  first  con- 
sequence in  the  estimation  of  this  reverend  gentle- 
man. 

"I  could  not  go  away  without  seeing  you,"  said 
Alice  contritely,  with  a  suspicion  of  tears  in  her 
voice. 

"And  I  am  glad  you  could  not  do  so,"  said  Mrs. 
St.  Clair,  throwing  a  white,  plump  arm  around 
Alice's  waist  and  kissing  her  affectionately. 

The  faces  of  both  ladies  cleared  at  the  recon- 
ciliation. They  were  happy  again  in  each  other's 
possession.  Both  women  were  sedulously  careful 
to  avoid  any  reference  to  the  cause  of  their  recent 
misunderstanding. 

"I  have  heard  very  flattering  reports  of  you 
the  last  few  days,"  said  Mrs.  St.  Clair  casually, 
"and  was  anxious  to  offer  congratulations." 

"Indeed !  Pray  proceed  with  particulars,"  said 
Alice. 

209 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,"  continued  Mrs.  St. 
Clair,  "Mrs.  Jerome  stated  you  were  the  most 
beautiful  and  the  best  gowned  lady  at  the  Gov- 
ernor's reception." 

"How  nice  of  her !  I'll  remember  Mrs.  Jerome 
with  a  present — a  real  exotic  gem — upon  my  re- 
turn." 

"Secondly,  that  a  galaxy  of  admirers  were  con- 
stantly in  attendance  at  your  side,  'conspicuously 
so,'  as  Mrs.  Jerome  stated." 

"Mrs.  Jerome  doesn't  know  what  nice  things  are 
in  store  for  her,"  interjected  Alice. 

"Thirdly,  that  a  certain  Duke  is  infatuated 
with  somebody's  charms,  and " 

"Dear  me !  Did  you  ask  Mrs.  Jerome  if,  in  be- 
stowing a  compliment  upon  one,  it  becomes  neces- 
sary to  scandalize  another?" 

"Fourthly " 

"I  protest.  Mrs.  Jerome  is  a  gossip.  When 
did  the  lady  furnish  this  summary?" 

"Yesterday." 

"I  thought  so." 

"Why  'thought  so'?" 

"Because  my  ears  tingled  furiously  all  yester- 
day," laughed  Alice. 

But,  despite  the  frequent  interruptions,  Mrs. 
St.  Clair  succeeded  in  unfolding  to  her  friend  all 
the  favorable  rumors  that  had  floated  to  her  will- 
ing ears  by  Mesdames  Grundy.  Every  lady, 
210 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

however  proper  and  precise,  be  she  as  wise  and 
logical  as  Portia  and  as  good  as  a  Madonna,  listens 
with  pleasure  to  a  recital  of  her  own  excellence. 

After  tea,  Alice  exacted  a  promise  from  Mrs. 
St.  Clair  that  the  latter  would  visit  her  on  the 
morrow,  and  took  her  departure,  feeling  more  free 
and  lighter  of  heart  than  she  had  felt  since  their 
estrangement. 

The  next  day,  Alice  procured  two  golden  lock- 
ets, and  taking  them  to  an  artist,  had  the  chil- 
dren's pictures  placed  in  them.  These  she  gave 
to  the  little  people,  who  exchanged  the  souvenirs, 
proud  of  the  ornaments,  with  the  mutual  promise 
always  to  keep  and  to  wear  them.  Oh!  the  sweet 
sincerity  of  childhood!  How  often  the  simple 
constancy  with  which  those  days  are  linked  to- 
gether stand  like  silent  groups  of  memory  among 
the  ruins  of  broken  vows  and  blighted  faith  of 
after  years! 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER    XVIIL 

Mr.  Richards,  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  the 
two  children  and  Lord  Howe  leaned  against  the 
deck-rail  of  a  Trans-Atlantic  steamer,  making  a 
pretty  picture  as  they  watched  the  bustle  and  ex- 
citement of  departure. 

In  a  few  moments  the  hoarse  whistle  will  scream 
out  its  signal  to  weigh  anchor.  Already  there  is 
a  lull  in  the  tread  of  passengers  across  the  gang 
plank.  Hundreds  of  people  are  gathered  upon 
the  docks  eagerly  watching  the  faces  of  friends, 
smiling  back  from  the  deck  of  the  Mistress  of  the 
Deep.  Many  eyes  are  red  with  weeping.  There 
is  something  inexpressibly  sad  in  the  lifting  of 
a  gang  plank.  Until  then  some  faltering  loved 
one  may  hesitate  and  turn  back;  afterwards  re- 
treat is  cut  off.  There  is  always  a  hush  as  the 
ocean  liner  veers  away — a  holding  of  the  breath, 
a  blanching  of  the  cheek.  To  some,  at  least,  that 
exchange  of  glances  is  the  last.  The  limits  of 
eternity  are  defined  in  the  steady,  unflinching 
gaze.  Tears  may  follow  later;  an  hour  hence 
convulsions  may  shake  the  bosom,  but  now  the  pu- 
pils of  those  dry  eyes  are  dilated  twice  their  nat- 
ural size,  and  stare  dimly  back  into  other  eyes,  out 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

of  which  hope,  in  turn,  has  fled.  Where  the  sepa- 
ration is  of  short  duration,  grief  is  demonstrative; 
where  the  parting  is  a  final,  a  last  farewell,  there 
is  no  outward  sign.  This  is  the  tragic  side; 
there  is  also,  as  well,  a  comic  side. 

At  the  last  moment,  for  instance,  a  commotion 
is  observed.  The  functionaries  who  look  after 
baggage  are  moving  with  unusual  celerity,  while 
a  gentleman  of  some  thirty  years  is  noticed  ap- 
proaching the  gangway.  He  wears  a  suit  of  light 
tweed,  fitting  his  person  in  the  most  approved 
fashion.  His  derby  is  drawn  down  well  fore 
and  aft,  which  of  itself  announces  the  newcomer's 
nationality.  But,  if  anything  were  wanting  to 
complete  the  evidence,  the  eyeglass  and  walking- 
stick  supply  the  deficit.  He  is  English. 

"Is  that  the  Duke  of  Berwick?"  gasped  his 
lordship,  pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  late  ac- 
quisition. 

"The  resemblance  is  noticeable,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Richards  dryly. 

"Guess  it  is,"  said  the  banker  irritably;  "it  is 
either  he  or  his  double."  The  Duke  was  not  one 
of  his  favorites. 

"Really,  it  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  said 
Alice  sweetly.  "How  nice  it  will  be  to  have  two 
titled  gentlemen  in  our  party!" 

"The  last,  but  not  least,"  said  Lord  Howe,  ex- 
changing a  swift  glance  with  Alice. 
213 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Who  in  thunderation  knew  he  was  coming?" 
demanded  the  banker  vindictively. 

"Going,  you  mean,  papa  dear,"  chimed  in  Alice, 
correcting  her  father's  diction. 

"Well,  'going,'  then,"  growled  the  banker 
fiercely,  "the  impecunious  puppy !" 

"Papa,  don't  lose  your  temper,  please.  You 
will  offend  Lord  Howe  in  referring  to  his  country- 
man disrespectfully." 

"Very  considerate  of  my  feelings,"  acknowl- 
edged the  nobleman  graciously.  "By  the  way," 
he  continued,  "Mrs.  Eldridge  seems  less  surprised 
than  the  rest  of  us.  She  must  have  been  partly 
prepared  for  the  apparition." 

"The  noble-minded  are  never  suspicious,"  re- 
torted Alice.  "No,  I  was  not  fortified.  Fore- 
warned does  not  mean  forearmed  as  applying  to 
the  English  nobility." 

"No  one  would  have  credited  my  daughter  with 
such  secretiveness,"  ventured  Mr.  Richards. 

"Nor  that  anything,  stinging  like  a  bee,  makes 
honey,"  dropped  in  the  nobleman  acrimoni- 
ously. 

"There  are  insects,  not  making  sweets,  that 
sting,"  volunteered  Alice,  waving  a  handkerchief 
to  draw  the  Duke's  attention. 

"What  are  you  up  to?  Inciting  an  insurrec- 
tion?" asked  the  banker. 

"A  mutiny?"  demanded  the  nobleman. 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Flying  the  colors  of  truce,"  replied  Alice  se- 
renely. 

The  subject  of  the  preceding  dialogue  saw  the 
waving  signal  and  came  forward  radiantly,  beam- 
ing blandly  upon  Mrs.  Eldridge. 

"How  kind  to  take  such  pains  to  bid  us  good- 
bye," purred  Alice,  extending  her  hand. 

The  Duke  squeezed  the  tips  of  her  fingers  in  a 
transport  of  delight. 

"By  Jove!"  muttered  the  old  nobleman,  wedg- 
ing his  way  forward,  "maybe  that's  it." 

"Au  revoir,"  said  Alice. 

"Farewell,"  said  Lord  Howe. 

"Good-bye,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Richards. 

"You'll  have  to  hurry,"  said  the  banker. 

Such  an  effusion  of  energy  could  only  be 
prompted  by  most  friendly  considerations,  and  the 
Duke  hastened  to  set  his  zealous  acquaintances  at 
ease. 

"I  am  a  passenger,  my  friends,  don't  you  know, 
as  yourselves." 

"Oh!"  " 


"Ah!" 


spontaneously. 


"Oh!" 

"Really  and  truly !"  cried  Alice,  mixing  the  bit- 
ter herbs  together  deliciously.  "How  happy  you 
make  us!" 

"Us?"  cried  the  nobleman. 

"Us?"  repeated  the  banker. 
215 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Alice  should  have  greatly  preferred  that  the 
duke  prolong  his  visit  of  conquest  in  America. 
She  felt  some  qualms  of  conscience.  Perhaps, 
in  her  whim  of  vexing  the  old  nobleman,  or, 
more  correctly  speaking,  in  her  efforts  to  con- 
ceal a  secret  from  him,  she  had  given  the 
least  bit  of  encouragement  to  the  late  passen- 
ger. This  introspection  gave  her  no  great  un- 
easiness, however,  except  in  that  it  may  have  been 
responsible  for  the  present  annoying  incumbrance. 
The  duke  was  more  "A  thing  of  beauty,  than  a 
joy  forever."  He  was  not  bad  looking,  possessed 
faultless  manners — courtliness — and  rather  a  fine 
figure.  In  short,  he  was  decidedly  attractive  in 
those  outward  appearances  or  embellishments  so 
charming  to  the  fair  sex.  But  it  was  veneer, 
largely  due,  it  is  true,  to  those  misfortunes  which 
beset  the  feet  of  English  aristocracy.  A  young 
peer  of  England  must  needs  be  well  balanced  or 
he  is  invariably  sure  of  toppling  over  into  the 
maelstrom  of  pleasure.  The  Duke  of  Berwick 
was  not  essentially  well  balanced,  and  had  plunged 
headlong  into  the  vortex.  He  lavished  money 
right  and  left.  A  score  of  satellites  constantly 
gyrated  about  him,  existing  upon  his  bounty ; 
creatures  who  encouraged  him  in  his  extravagance 
as  it  correspondingly  increased  their  opportunities. 
Five  years  of  this  indulgence  and  the  duke  sud- 
denly awoke  to  a  realization  that  his  patrimony 
216 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

had  been  swept  away.  When  a  man  has  been 
traveling  at  break-neck  gait  it  is  no  ordinary  ob- 
struction that  stops  his  career.  He  may  be  slack- 
ened in  speed  by  the  collision,  he  may  be  slowed 
up  some,  but  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  "stand- 
still." A  thorough  racer  does  not  quit  the  track 
at  the  first  defeat.  "Outclassed"  is  the  hardest 
word  in  the  vocabulary  for  a  man  to  apply  to  him- 
self. As  the  Duke  of  Berwick  had  lived  luxu- 
riously upon  his  principal,  he  now  lived  luxu- 
riously upon  his  credit.  Obtaining  unlimited 
credit  is  merely  a  matter  or  affair  of  living  sump- 
tuously. Of  course,  a  day  of  reckoning  is  bound 
to  come  sooner  or  later.  Postponement  is  not  dif- 
ficult until  after  the  creditor's  suspicions  are 
aroused  of  the  inability  to  pay,  then  he  becomes 
imperious.  The  artisan  who  charges  us  four 
prices  for  his  ware  is  gracious  to  obsequiousness 
as  long  as  he  is  secure.  But  the  instant  his  secur- 
ity is  reduced  he  is  twenty  times  meaner  and  more 
obstreperous  in  obtaining  payment  than  the  cred- 
itor who  made,  or  rather  was  to  have  made,  a  de- 
cent or  fair  profit.  The  duke's  creditors,  and 
especially  the  first-mentioned  class,  became  so  pro- 
vokingly  ill-mannered  as  to  demand  satisfaction 
instead  of  promises;  and  intimated  that,  unless 
liquidation  was  forthcoming  immediately,  the 
Duke  should  be  accommodated  with  apartments  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  Tower.  The  duke's  intentions 
217 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

to  pay  were  greatly  superior  to  his  ability  to  dis- 
charge. A  rumor  or  two  of  his  financial  embar- 
rassment, after  once  being  started,  circulated  free- 
ly, making  it  extremely  mortifying  for  the  fallen 
nobleman  to  solicit  temporary  assistance  from  any 
of  his  "well-able-to-loan"  associates,  especially  so, 
having  been  shaken  an  indefinite  number  of  times 
already  by  companions,  who  had  assisted  him  free- 
ly, at  an  earlier  day,  in  spending  his  substance. 

The  duke  did  not  advertise  his  departure  to 
America  in  advance.  It  was  disagreeable  busi- 
ness enough  at  best;  but,  like  a  sensible  fellow, 
whose  wits  had  been  partly  recovered  by  reverses, 
he  kept  his  own  counsel,  taking  his  leave  abroad 
so  privately  that  none  of  his  creditors  was  the 
wiser  until  his  being  a  fugitive  became  a  matter 
of  publicity. 

The  duke  was  more  than  half  smitten  with 
Alice,  aside  from  pecuniary  considerations,  for 
which  he  claimed  great  credit,  as  the  latter  of 
themselves  are  known  before  now  to  have  been  the 
sole  equivalent  of  many  matrimonial  alliances.  He 
was  a  man  of  magnificent  nerve.  Upon  occasions 
too  numerous  to  mention  he  had  banked  heavily 
upon  this  capital  without  risk  of  having  his  paper 
dishonored.  Nerve  is  a  collateral  upon  which 
many  a  loan  has  been  advanced.  It  is  the  only 
stock  in  trade  of  many  people  one  knows. 

The  monosyllable  "us"  had  been  emphasized 
218 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

with  so  much  energy  as  to  disabuse  his  under- 
standing of  any  false  estimation  he  may  have  pre- 
viously enjoyed  of  his  status  in  the  opinions  of 
the  two  gentlemen.  His  abasement  was  of  but 
momentary  duration. 

"I  am  assured  of  a  pleasant  voyage  by  the 
warmth  of  your  gracious  reception,"  he  said,  look- 
ing the  two  men  steadily  in  the  eyes  as  he  spoke. 
"The  time  may  come  when  it  shall  be  my  happi- 
ness to  return  the  compliment." 

Alice  gave  him  an  admiring  glance,  which  suffi- 
ciently compensated  for  any  and  all  unexpected 
antipathy  from  the  two  bellicose  old  gentlemen. 
Further  rupture  was  averted  by  a  shiver  which 
seemed  to  vibrate  every  steel  rib  and  timber  of  the 
monstrous  steamer.  The  first  revolution  of  the 
iron  propeller  had  cleaved  the  water  on  a  voyage 
of  three  thousand  miles. 

During  the  commotion  the  duke  had  the  good 
manners  to  withdraw  from  his  painful  position 
unobserved,  retreating  to  his  cabin,  where  he  com- 
muned with  himself  something  after  the  following 
order : 

"Mrs.  Eldridge  is  beautiful  and  rich.  Her  ra- 
diant beauty  should  make  me  envied;  her  riches 
should  pay  my  debts;  on  the  whole  I'd  be  a  lucky 
dog.  She  has  the  form  of  a  Lucretia  Borgia,  and 
the  face  of  a  Madonna.  Wedlock  with  such  per- 
fection is  'a  consummation  devoutly  to  be  wished.' 
219 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

I  should  be  under  perpetual  obligations  to  her. 
I  might  love  her.  She  would  deserve  my  adora- 
tion. I  have  two  weeks  to  pay  court  to  her — no 
rivals.  I  must  succeed;  'cause  why? — well,  I 
must  win,  that's  all.  I  fled  from  the  embrace  of 
my  creditors — twenty  thousand  pounds!  Zounds! 
Now  I  fly  back  to  their  arms,  reserving  at  all  times 
the  privilege  of  jumping  overboard.  It  is  pre- 
posterous. 

"My  uncle,  the  old  curmudgeon,  is  so  unoblig- 
ing as  to  live.  Really,  he  has  forfeited  all  claims 
to  my  regard.  He  is  eighty-two  in  July.  The 
last  ten  birthdays  were  great  reliefs  to  me;  too 
bad  they  are  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days 
apart.  He  is  a  hale  and  hearty  old  man,  and  bids 
fair  to  reach  the  century  mark.  I'm  sadly  in  dis- 
grace with  the  old — my  venerable  uncle.  He 
would  not  advance  me  one  hundred  pounds  to  save 
my  neck.  I  can't  afford  to  wait,  even  if  I  do  get 
it  all  in  the  end.  I  will  not  tolerate  banishment. 
America!  'Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend 
us.'  Anything  but  America!  The  aborigines  of 
Cabot's  time  are  preferable  to  its  present  inhabi- 
tants. I  am  no  dweller  with  the  Yankee.  I 
should  as  soon  fraternize  with  a  Hungarian.  A 
wife  is  the  sole  remaining  alternative.  I  never 
believed  that  I  should  be  reduced  to  such  extrem- 
ity. Then  I'll  brace  up,  reform,  enter  politics, 
and  be  somebody. 

220 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"I  honestly  believe  I  love  the  woman,  anyway. 
Her  father — fudge!  I  can  circumvent  him. 
Lord  Howe  has  had  too  gentle  nurture  to  tattle. 
He'll  give  me  a  piece  of  his  mind  free  gratis,  but 
he'll  not  meddle  with  my  affairs.  Mrs.  Eldridge  has 
some  grudge  against  him;  I  wonder  what  it  is? 
For  the  next  two  weeks  I  am  between  a  wife  and 
Newgate  prison.  Was  ever  a  mortal  so  uncom- 
fortably situated?  I  am  perspiring.  My  reflec- 
tions are  hotter  than  tophet.  One  is  a  complete 
checkmate  to  the  other.  There  is  this  difference, 
however:  if  I  win  a  wife,  I  escape  Newgate;  if  I 
win  Newgate,  the  wife  escapes  me.  It  is  well  to 
keep  details  in  mind.  This  is  what  comes  of  a 
man  living  a  Bohemian  life.  He  becomes  deplor- 
ably compromised.  Marriage  is  an  institution  for 
which  I  have  little  relish.  My  uncle!  How  I 
should  bless  his  memory  at  his  crisis !" 

These  gloomy  meditations  were  interrupted  by 
the  gong  sounding  its  summons  to  the  mid-day 
meal.  The  duke  was  too  intent  on  the  business  in 
hand  to  waste  valuable  time  in  profitless  specula- 
tions. His  valet  dressed  him  with  the  utmost  re- 
gard to  detail.  Among  the  limited  virtues  in  the 
possession  of  the  duke  that  of  scrupulous  neatness 
was  conspicuous.  This  of  itself  is  ample  to  cover 
a  multitude  of  sins.  The  duke  never  dressed  elab- 
orately— showily.  If  he  attracted  notice  it  was 
because  of  a  punctilious  observance  of  the  utmost 
221 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

simplicity  combined  with  artistic  effect,  a  union 
that  produces  an  agreeable  impression  without  of- 
fending any  rule  of  propriety.  He  simply  har- 
monized. Some  men  are  born  imbued  with  the  at- 
tribute of  tidiness;  some  are  born  slovenly,  live 
that  way  and  die  the  same.  Tidiness  and  tawdri- 
ness  are  distinct.  The  former  is  a  great  blessing, 
though  often  made  a  subject  of  disparagement. 
There  is  a  difference  between  this  quality  and 
primping.  May  the  good  angels  deliver  us  from 
the  nincompoop  that  primps !  He  is  an  irritant 
that  aggravates  every  malady  of  which  flesh  is 
heir.  On  the  contrary,  the  mere  presence  of  men 
of  the  duke's  measure  concerning  matters  of  at- 
tire, acts  as  a  sedative  to  the  entire  nervous  sys- 
tem. Negligence  in  the  matter  of  dress  is  a  sin 
of  both  commission  and  omission.  One  knows 
many  people  whose  intellectual  endowments  espe- 
cially fit  them  to  be  leaders  of  society,  but  who, 
by  their  general  indifference  to  personal  appear- 
ance, are  excluded  from  the  sphere  they  are  in- 
tended so  eminently  to  adorn.  Should  we  not  pre- 
fer seeing  Diogenes  among  the  brightest  constel- 
lation of  Athenian  society  than  inhabiting  his 
celebrated  tub? 

The  duke  was  good  for  two  weeks;  but  that  was 

about  his  limit.     He  could  amuse  for  a  fortnight; 

in  a  month  he  was  a  bore,  two  months  an  incubus. 

Still,  he  differentiated  from  the  class  of  nuisances 

222 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

of  which  he  formed  a  part — he  knew  it,  thereby 
deserving  the  credit  of  sagacity.  He  visited 
people  for  whom  he  entertained  regard  at  long 
intervals,  thus  maintaining  a  respectable  reputa- 
tion for  cleverness. 

He  was  fortunate  in  arriving  at  the  opportune 
moment  to  assist  Mrs.  Eldridge  to  the  dining- 
room. 

After  refreshments,  while  leisurely  passing 
Lord  Howe  and  the  banker  with  the  ladies,  he 
overheard  the  former  exchanging  maledictions 
over  the  villainous  cigars  with  which  the  salon 
was  stocked.  He  proceeded  to  his  quarters  and 
brought  the  gentlemen  a  box,  which  he  ventured 
to  remark  would  prove  to  their  liking.  This  deli- 
cate consideration,  under  all  circumstances,  mer- 
ited a  kinder  fate  than  reserved  for  the  occasion. 
Neither  of  the  gentlemen  recovered  from  surprise 
in  time  to  decline  the  favor  before  the  unruffled 
duke  retired  and  rejoined  the  ladies,  leaving  the 
two  men  vigorously  puffing  away  at  the  foul  pur- 
chases of  the  steamer's  sample-room,  now  and  then 
gazing  at  the  box  dubiously. 

"I  recommend  a  voyage  to  all  persons  making 
New  Year's  resolutions  of  swearing  off  the  tobacco 
habit,"  said  the  banker,  tossing  the  half-consumed 
cigar  into  the  cuspidor. 

"I'd  like  to  be  a  judge  long  enough  to  pass 
sentence  upon  the  manufacturer  of  that  cabbage 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

blossom,"  said  the  nobleman,  imitating  the  action 
of  his  companion.  "These  cigars  are  infamous, 
atrocious." 

They  were  inveterate  smokers.  They  sat  a 
long  while  glowering  upon  the  inviting  cover  se- 
ductively placed  before  them. 

"He's  a  deep  one,  eh?"  admitted  the  banker 
after  a  prolonged  silence. 

"A — a  Pitt,"  responded  the  Englishman. 

"If  we  accept,  he'll  levy  tribute  at  pleasure," 
allowed  the  financier  thoughtfully. 

"I  decline  to  be  obligated,"  said  the  nobleman 
resolutely,  rising  and  walking  a  few  steps  away. 

"Here,  too,"  added  the  banker,  stationing  him- 
self resolutely  by  the  side  of  his  associate. 

For  ten  minutes  they  surveyed  the  shimmering 
surface  of  the  ocean  complacently. 

"Wonder  what  brand  they  are?"  speculated  the 
banker. 

"Haven't  an  idea,"  acknowledged  the  English- 
man. Then,  after  a  painful  silence,  he  continued, 
visibly  relenting: 

"Let's  go  see." 

"Be  careful,  they  are  watching  us,"  said  the 
Philadelphian,  noticing  the  exultant  pleasure  in 
his  daughter's  face  at  the  turning  of  the  tables. 

"Let's  light  one  and  pronounce  it  more  abom- 
inable than  the  salon  commodity,"  suggested  the 
Englishman. 

224 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Agreed — 'commodity'  is  good." 

They  returned  to  the  stand,  Lord  Howe  pick- 
ing up  the  box. 

""Keith's  Pride'!"  he  exclaimed;  "he  has 
winged  us." 

"Best  cigar  on  the  market,"  declared  the  bank- 
er in  despair.  "What  are  we  to  do?" 

"Smoke,"  replied  the  Englishman. 

"How  about  obligations?" 

"We  have  to  do  one  of  two  things." 

"What's  in  your  mind?"  asked  the  banker,  reck- 
less of  consequences. 

"Paying  his  debts  or  presenting  him  a  cigar 
factory  upon  our  arrival." 

"What  is  the  extent  of  his  liabilities?" 

"Twenty  thousand  pounds." 

"Expensive!  But  I  believe  we  shall  enjoy  a 
cigar  at  that  price." 

"So  do  I." 

The  cover  was  demolished  and  they  proceeded 
to  burn  two  cigars  apiece  uninterrupted  by  fur- 
ther conversation. 

"How  do  you  find  them?"  asked  the  duke,  ap- 
proaching from  the  rear  with  the  ladies. 

"Delicious,"  acknowledged  the  banker. 

"A  relaxation,"  said  the  nobleman. 

"What  confirmed  and  contented  victims  of  the 
nicotine  habit,"  ventured  Alice  facetiously,  rub- 
bing her  hand  caressingly  over  her  father's  head. 
225 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"I  have  thanked  the  duke,  papa,  for  both  of  you," 
she  finished  sweetly. 

"If  filial  devotion  is  rewarded  in  heaven,"  com- 
mented the  Englishman,  "you'll  be  envied  of  the 
angels." 

"It  is  too  bad  I  shall  not  be  able  to  use  your 
testimonials,"  she  retorted  irreverently. 

"Communication  is  shut  off,"  dabbed  in  the 
duke. 

After  this  episode  the  ordinary  civilities  were 
observed  between  the  three  gentlemen. 

The  duke  was  perplexed  and  mystified  as  to 
Alice's  regards  toward  him.  Despite  his  unmis- 
takable preference  for  her  society,  she  treated  him 
with  the  utmost  sang-froid.  Upon  two  or  three 
occasions  already  she  had  dexterously  rescued  him 
on  the  verge  of  a  declaration.  The  consummate 
skill  with  which  she  had  baffled  him  had  the  effect 
of  increasing  his  admiration  as  well  as  his  appre- 
hensions. In  sheer  desperation,  he  resolved  that 
he  would  know  his  fate,  however,  at  the  first  op- 
portunity that  presented  itself. 

In  two  more  days  they  would  be  in  sight  of  his 
native  land.  His  waking  and  sleeping  hours  were 
filled  with  visions  of  creditors,  magistrates,  and 
bailiffs.  Freedom  never  seemed  so  precious,  nor 
so  elusive,  as  it  had  during  the  hours  of  this  voy- 
age. That  same  evening  the  much-coveted  chance 
unexpectedly  arrived. 

226 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

They  were  alone.  It  was  twilight.  The  hour, 
the  glorious  evening,  the  smooth  surface  of  the 
phosphorescent  water,  the  slight  careening  of  the 
steamer  as  it  plunged  through  the  waves,  were 
confederates,  as  the  duke  imagined,  to  aid  him  in 
the  amatorian  effort  of  his  life. 

"The  captain  says  we  shall  see  land  day  after 
to-morrow,"  said  Alice. 

"Shall  you  be  so  happy  in  renouncing  the  wa- 
ter?" asked  the  duke,  with  a  quaver  in  his  voice 
not  entirely  simulated. 

"Why,  of  course,"  she  replied,  preferring  not 
to  notice  his  agitation. 

"And  I,"  he  said  histrionically,  "dread  the  sight 
of  land.  It  separates  me  from  the  one  woman  I 
love.  Mrs.  Eldridge — Alice — I  love  you.  Will 
you  be  my  wife?  My  future  happiness  depends 
upon  your  answer."  He  was  terribly  in  earnest. 
Alice  remained  silent  some  moments,  while  he  stood 
before  her  with  arms  crossed  upon  his  breast, 
watching  her  intently.  "Do  not  answer  now — 
wait — to-morrow — a  week  hence.  Only  lighten 
my  despair  with  a  ray  of  hope." 

However  unworthy  the  motives  governing  his 
action  at  the  outset  in  reference  to  Alice  Eldridge, 
as  he  stood  before  her,  pleading  for  her  affection, 
he  loved  her  as  he  had  never  loved  and  never 
should  love  another  woman. 

"No,  Duke  of  Berwick,  this  must  be  the  last  in- 
227 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

terview  between  us  when  this  subject  is  mentioned. 
I  can  never  be  your  wife."  She  paused  again,  so 
long  that  the  silence  became  cruel.  "I  was  think- 
ing," she  said  finally,  "whether  or  no  it  were  best 
to  be  perfectly  frank  with  you." 

"Proceed,"  he  said;  "I  am  listening."  He  had 
not  moved  so  much  as  a  muscle  since  she  began 
speaking.  The  full  force  of  his  loss  seemed  to 
stun  and  stupefy  him. 

"I  admire  certain  traits  of  your  character,  but 
I  could  never  love  you.  I  know  your  circum- 
stances; you  are  in  debt.  My  fortune  would  re- 
lieve your  pressing  obligations " 

"Has  Lord  Howe  dared "  commenced  the 

duke. 

"Lord  Howe  has  never  discussed  your  affairs," 
she  interrupted. 

"Is  my  love,  then,  a  subject  of  insult?"  he 
asked,  his  face  darkening. 

"Wait!  I  am  rich.  You  will  admit  you  are 
involved  hopelessly  in  debt.  You  braved  your 
creditors  and  ventured  upon  a  return  to  your  na- 
tive land  in  hopes  of  winning  my  fortune."  She 
hesitated  again. 

"You  have  dismissed  me,"  he  stammered, 
"but  I  wish  you  to  finish — you  have  my  atten- 
tion." 

"I  saw  this  the  day  we  sailed  from  New  York," 
she  continued  without  noticing  his  interruption. 
228 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"I  resolved,  then  and  there,  to  help  you.  I  had 
compromised  myself.  I  had  shown  you  some 
preference.  I  am  aware  that  you  fall  into  a  val- 
uable estate  upon  the  death  of  your  uncle.  I  wish 
you  to  accept  a  loan  of  thirty  thousand  pounds, 
payable  six  months  after  your  relative's  death. 
Upon  the  whole  you  are  an  honorable  man.  You 
will  repay  the  principal  and  interest.  You  can 
laugh  your  creditors  in  the  face.  You  will  neither 
return  to  the  old  associates,  nor  to  the  old  habits  of 
life.  You  will  always  be  my  friend.  Your  prop- 
er position  in  the  world  is  one  of  honor  and  promi- 
nence; and  I  exact  a  promise  from  you  that  you 
will  attain  both." 

"Mrs.  Eldridge,  you  make  me  feel  insignificant. 
What  you  have  said — your  accusations — are  in 
part  true.  Let  me  believe,  at  least,  that  my  man- 
hood has  suffered  by  reputation.  I  trust  you  do 
not  consider  me  capable  of  accepting  the  propo- 
sition of  a  loan  from  a  woman  rejecting  my  love 
with  insult.  I  shall  cherish  your  advice,  you  may 
depend.  Farewell." 

"Duke,"  but  he  had  moved  swiftly  beyond  the 
sound  of  her  voice. 

"He  is  not  such  a  bad  sort  after  all,"  she  said 
aloud. 

"I  am  beginning  to  think  so  myself,"  said  a 
voice  at  her  elbow. 

"Lord  Howe!"  she  exclaimed  indignantly. 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"At  your  service,  madam,"  he  replied,  with  a 
Chesterfieldian  courtesy. 

"Did  you  overhear  the  conversation  between  the 
duke  and  myself?"  she  demanded,  exasperated  al- 
most beyond  self-control. 

"If  people  wish  to  discuss  love  affairs  in  public 
places  and  in  the  presence  of  old  men,  it  would 
be  preposterous  to  frustrate  such  delightful  occu- 
pation," he  ventured  indolently,  without  pretend- 
ing to  propitiate  her  displeasure. 

"I  shall  forgive  you  upon  one  condition." 

"Please  don't — that  is,  don't  do  anything  rash 
that  you  may  repent,"  he  drawled.  "I  merely  dis- 
turbed you  to  say  that  I  have  decided  to  satisfy 
our  mutual  friend,  the  duke's,  debts  myself,  and 
you  need  have  no  farther  uneasiness  on  that  ac- 
count. You  see,  your  father  and  I  owe  him  a 
debt  of  gratitude — that  box  of  cigars.  I  believe 
you  have  aroused  the  poor  cuss,  however,  for  which 
please  accept  my  thanks."  He  was  bowing  himself 
away,  when  recalled  peremptorily. 

"Lord  Howe!" 

"Your  slightest  wish  is  a  command,  madam." 

"I  am  going  to  ask  the  last  and  only  favor  of 
you  I  shall  ever  request." 

"It  is  the  first  as  well  as  the  last,"  corrected  the 
nobleman.  "I  trust  I  can  oblige  you." 

"Well,  'first  and  last,'  as  you  will.  Remain 
here;  I  shall  return  directly."  He  bowed  assent 
230 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

and  she  left  him  quickly.  She  was  absent  prob- 
ably five  minutes,  when  he  heard  her  footstep  ap- 
proaching. He  continued  to  gaze  at  the  ocean. 

"I  have  fifty  numbers  of  the  Philadelphia 
North  American,  containing  the  account  of  my 
daughter's  adventure.  Take  the  entire  lot  and 
give  me  the  clipping  from  your  pocket."  She 
held  the  papers  toward  him. 

"Oh,  haven't  you  forgotten  that  circumstance? 
What  a  retentive  memory  you  possess !"  He  gave 
her  a  searching  look,  seized  one  of  the  papers, 
spread  it  open  and — sure  enough,  there  was  the 
article,  word  for  word. 

"It  is  singular;  I  went  to  the  office  of  the 
North  American  the  day  I  reached  Philadelphia 
and  asked  for  a  copy  of  the  paper  containing  the 
account,  for  fear  of  losing  the  paragraph  en- 
trusted to  me  by  Edward  Reynolds ;  and  it  was  re- 
ported to  me  that  the  last  one  had  been  sold. 
Some  speech,  as  I  remember,  caused  the  extras  to 
go  like  wildfire.  I  offered  them  five  dollars  for  a 
single  number.  A  thorough  search  was  made,  but 
not  a  copy  was  to  be  found  on  the  premises.  And 
you  say  you  have  fifty?" 

"Yes,  my  lord;  are  the  odds  sufficient?" 

He  made  a  motion  towards  his  pocket;  the 
woman  was  breathing  heavily.  Some  recollection 
arrested  his  arm.  Alice  stepped  forward,  her  ra- 
diant face  upturned  and  beaming. 

231 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"It  is  good  of  you — so  kind  and  noble.  I  shall 
love  you  dearly,"  her  warm  breath  swept  over  his 
temples.  "Let  me  assist,  my  lord."  She  touched 
his  stationary  arm.  "Fifty  to  one,"  she  repeated 
feverishly.  She  did  not  tell  him  that  the  entire 
paper  had  been  reset  and  printed  at  an  enormous 
cost  to  get  that  fifty  edition. 

"I  must  not."  If  he  had  dealt  her  a  blow  she 
would  not  have  recoiled  more.  Then  she  crept  to 
his  side  again. 

"Lord  Howe,"  she  pleaded,  "you  honor  and  re- 
spect my  father  and  mother.  Give  their  only 
child  the  thing  she  begs  of  you.  She  would  ask 
it  on  her  knees,  if  need  be." 

"Upon   one  condition,"   he  replied  inexorably. 

She  caught  at  the  hope  held  out  by  his  words 
as  a  drowning  man  clutches  at  some  solitary  splin- 
ter slivered  in  shipwreck  floating  upon  the 
waves. 

"I  grant  it — I  grant  it — if  a  worn ' 

"It  is  this:  that  you  promise  to  love  him — Ed- 
ward Reynolds."  His  voice  was  hoarse  and  thick. 
She  sprang  backward  and  stood  confronting  him, 
white  and  livid  as  a  corpse,  her  eyes  burning  him 
with  their  brilliancy.  Then  she  picked  up  the  pa- 
pers and,  walking  to  the  rail,  cast  them  overboard. 
Without  noticing  her  companion,  she  glided  from 
his  presence. 

"I  love  her  more  than  I  hate  her,  in  spite  of 
232 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

myself,  and — and — Reynolds.  She  is  a  conun- 
drum, a  riddle,  a — well,  she  won't  marry  the  duke, 
at  any  rate." 

The  next  day  Lord  Howe  informed  the  Duke  of 
Berwick  that  the  former  would  arrange  a  compro- 
mise with  all  creditors,  that  upon  that  score  the 
latter  might  be  at  rest.  In  addition,  the  old  no- 
bleman promised  to  make  an  advance  for  him  to 
live  upon  until  the  duke's  admission  to  his  estate. 
The  duke  was  grateful. 

That  same  evening  the  Duke  of  Berwick  was 
preparing  to  leave  the  steamer.  It  had  swung 
into  position  at  the  pier.  He  expected  a  recep- 
tion by  creditors  and  bailiffs  galore.  In  this  he 
was  disappointed.  Instead,  lined  up  in  respectful 
defile,  was  the  whole  set  of  former  sycophants  in 
force.  They  were  smiling  and  bowing  and  scrap- 
ing; one  slightly  removed  to  the  rear,  in  his  at- 
tachment and  devotion  blew  a  kiss  at  the  returning 
prodigal,  pressing  the  tips  of  his  fingers  to  his 
heart  after  the  sickening  blandishment.  What 
did  this  demonstration,  or  rather  this  want  of  dem- 
onstration, mean?  There  were  neither  creditors, 
bailiffs  nor  constables  in  sight. 

"Your  lamented  uncle  is  dead,"  chirped  a 
chorus  of  voices. 

"And  buried,  too,"  supplemented  another. 

"Oh!"  The  duke  comprehended.  The  man 
lately  bereaved  by  the  loss  of  an  uncle  faced 
233 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

squarely  about  and  retreated  to  the  deck  of  the 
steamer,  met  Mrs.  Eldridge  and  motioned  her 
aside. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "my  uncle  is  dead.  I  am 
one  of  the  richest  men  in  England.  Instead  of  a 
penniless,  debt-ridden  man,  the  Duke  of  Berwick 
now  asks — nay  begs  you  to  become  his  wife,  be- 
cause he  sincerely  loves  you." 

"Stop,  please ;  it  can  never  be.  You  are  acting 
honorably.  I  respect  you ;  but  my  decision  is  irre- 
vocable. Your  honorable  conduct  is  a  refutation 
of  my  suspicions.  Duke  of  Berwick,  as  a  proof 
of  my  confidence  and  esteem,  I  tell  you  this :  My 
heart  is  not  mine  to  give.  I  know  you  will  be 
an  honor  to  your  name  and  title,  and  as  we  part," 
holding  out  her  hand,  "let  me  ask  for  your  friend- 
ship." 

"I  shall  be — all  you  ask.  Farewell,"  raising 
her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"Farewell,"  said  Alice  sadly. 

"So  your  heart  is  not  yours  to  give,"  repeated 
Lord  Howe.  "I  hope  you  will  be  fortunate  in  all 
those  tender  affairs  of  the "  he  touched  the  re- 
gion of  his  vest-buttons  on  the  left  side,  making  a 
profound  courtesy. 

"It  is  no  matter,"  said  the  woman,  looking  the 
intruder  squarely  in  the  eyes. 

"What  is  'no  matter'?"   asked  his  lordship. 

"Nothing,"  she  replied.  "I  had  thought  Lord 
234 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Howe  too  much  of  an  English  gentleman  to  conde- 
scend to  such  rudeness." 

Lord  Howe  no  sooner  made  the  remark  than  he 
felt  ashamed  of  his  conduct.  He  had  persuaded 
himself  that  Edward  and  Alice  would  yet  meet  at 
the  altar.  He  had  schemed  and  planned  how  it 
might  be  brought  about.  He  was  going  to  be  in- 
strumental in  bringing  around  this  result,  and,  as 
he  was  passing  but  a  moment  since  and  overheard 
the  admission  from  her  lips,  it  condemned  the 
hopes  he  had  been  building  upon.  He  felt  a  sense 
of  injury  and  disappointment  that  found  expres- 
sion in  his  uncivil  language.  Alice  Eldridge,  he 
believed,  had  decoyed  her  regal  beauty  to  ensnare 
the  affections  of  one  whom  his  lordship  greatly 
esteemed.  It  had  blighted  the  life  of  the  victim. 
In  his  noble  mind  he  accused  her  of  coquetry,  of 
employing  her  divine  beauty — the  gifts  of  her 
matchless  mind,  to  blast  and  destroy  the  future 
happiness  of  a  man  whose  every  thought  was  pure 
and  good — whose  veneration  for  woman  was 
Christ-like.  If  he  had  had  it  in  his  power,  as  they 
stood  confronting  each  other,  he  would  have  in- 
flicted upon  her  in  return  a  suffering  as  great  in 
its  sorrow  as  the  one  she  had  ruthlessly  caused 
Edward  Reynolds. 


235 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Jacob  Ikestine  and  his  brother  Solomon,  pro- 
prietors of  a  well-patronized  art  gallery  of  Lon- 
don, are  closeted  together  in  their  private  office. 
The  younger  brother  had  been  invited  summarily 
to  the  interview. 

"Ve  be  equel  bardners,  be  ve  not?"  inquired  Ja- 
cob of  his  younger  brother  dictatorily. 

"Fader  of  Abraham!  So  ve  be,  und  splendid 
brofets,  mine  broder — und  splendid  brofets !"  as- 
sented the  junior  member  of  the  firm,  who  saw  a 
philippic  about  to  be  delivered,  and  wished  to 
avert  the  impending  storm  by  allusion  to  unprece- 
dented prosperity. 

"You  sleep  avay  your  life."  Solomon's  hands 
were  lifted  in  remonstrance.  "You  sleep,"  con- 
tinued Jacob,  unaffected  by  the  touching  physical 
and  mental  prostration  of  his  kinsman,  "vhile  I 
bring  the  ewers  of  vater  und  the  tables  of  stone." 
Here  the  speaker  focussed  his  flashing  eyes  fully 
upon  the  culprit's  face,  and  continued  in  a  voice 
more  severe  even  than  previously  used,  "Vhat  is 
that  Gentile  artist  doing,  und  how  stands  the 
rent?" 

Solomon  turned  with  alacrity  to  the  ledger, 
236 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

,  while  the  speaker  refrained  from  interruption  dur- 
ing the  investigation. 

"  'Hope,'  vive  bounds  on  rent — sold  for  vifty 
bounds — rent  paid  to  Aprel  1,  1860,"  Solomon 
read  from  the  tomes.  It  was  desired  by  this  en- 
terprising firm  of  Israelites  to  secure  such  tenants 
for  the  various  properties  under  the  firm  owner- 
ship who  exchanged  their  products,  be  it  of  what- 
ever character,  for  rent,  for  which  trifling  sums 
were  allowed  the  tenants  and  exorbitant  prices 
charged  the  public. 

"Two  months  overdue,"  commented  the  object 
of  the  elder  brother's  displeasure,  having  com- 
puted by  mental  process  the  time  for  which  the 
tenant  was  in  default. 

"Two  months  overdue!  Mine  God  of  Israel! 
Two  months  overdue!  Our  house  shall  fail." 
Jacob  wrung  his  hands  in  hopeless  dejection. 

"I  vill  go  to  the  delinquent — the  rascally  bank- 
rupt. Abraham  forgive  me."  In  his  impetuos- 
ity he  had  nearly  eluded  his  elder  relative. 

"Nein!  Nein!"  exclaimed  Jacob.  "God  of  Is- 
rael, stop  the  ravisher  of  thy  chosen  people." 
Solomon  came  to  an  abrupt  and  precipitous  halt. 
"He  paints  sublime !  Sublime !  The  genius  of 
Michael  Angelo  dwells  in  the  brush.  God  of 
Abraham!  ve  vill  be  rich  as  Isaac  of  York.  Our 
children  shall  inherit;  our  grandchildren — Solo- 
mon, you  sleep." 

237 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

These  pleasant  reflections  of  present  and  pros- 
pective expectations  for  the  generations  of  Ike- 
stines,  so  far  as  Abraham's  favors  were  suppli- 
cated and  invoked,  terminated  in  the  perpetual  re- 
minder of  his  kinsman's  business  torpor  or  coma. 

Solomon's  face  reflected,  as  a  mirror,  the  an- 
ticipation of  wealth  as  his  brother  proceeded,  to 
be  cast  in  deepest  dejection  upon  reference  to  the 
proverbial  sleepiness.  Already  in  his  mind  he  was 
meditating  the  usury  he  would  extort  from  the 
offending  artist  for  subjecting  him  to  the  just 
and  well-merited  rebuke  of  his  kinsman  for  inat- 
tention to  their  mutual  interests,  and  for  want  of 
the  customary  vigilance  of  their  people. 

"I  vill  die  of  modification,  but  I  vill  make  him 
pay — the  wagrant,"  declared  Solomon,  preparing 
to  depart. 

"He  paints."    Jacob  spoke  slowly,  suggestively. 

Here  a  new  intelligence  began  to  shine  in  Solo- 
mon's cunning  eyes. 

"I  vill  go,  look,  see." 

"Be  circumspect.  Father  of  Abraham !  Curse 
not  thy  chosen  people." 

Thirty  minutes  later  a  gentle  rap  was  tattooed 
upon  a  door  leading  into  the  rear  part  of  a  third- 
story  building,  where  indigent  artists  and  poor 
tenants  found  it  easy  to  make  arrangement  for 
quarterly  rents.  The  room  the  Jew  was  about  to 
enter  was  used  by  Michael  Lieb  as  an  atelier. 
238 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Ah,  it  is  you!  Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Ike- 
stine,"  said  the  painter,  welcoming  his  visitor. 

But  Ikestine's  eyes  had  been  arrested,  as  were 
all  his  faculties,  upon  the  canvas,  some  six  feet  by 
eight,  before  him.  He  had  not  heard  the  salu- 
tation. This  Jew  was  one  of  the  best  critics  and 
connoisseurs  of  art  in  London.  He  was  amazed 
at  the  scope  of  imagination  and  at  the  artist's 
skill.  It  was  as  though  he  heard  his  brother's  fa- 
vorite expression,  "Solomon,  you  sleeb,"  that  he 
returned  to  the  habitual  cringing,  money-making 
habit  of  his  race. 

"Ah,  I  vas  glad  to  zee  you  in  such  delightvul, 
and,  I  may  hope,  provitable  occupation.** 

A  little  color  rushed  to  the  pale  cheeks  of  the 
artist.  He  saw  the  Jew  was  surprised.  He  fan- 
cied he  had  detected  in  the  face  of  the  Israelite  an 
admission  of  power  in  the  canvas,  and  an  ambi- 
tion thirsting  for  recognition  and  fame  was  grat- 
ified in  the  momentary  surrender  of  the  Jew's 
aggressive  and  ever  alert  instinct  of  gain. 

"My  broder  and  I  wisit  our  tenants.  Ve  vor- 
bear!"  Here  the  speaker's  eyes  irresistibly  re- 
turned to  the  canvas.  "Ve  vorbear!" 

"I  hope  I  shall  not  require  your  indulgence  be- 
yond a  couple  of  weeks,"  said  the  artist. 

"The  auction  sales  are  next  veek  and  veek 
after,"  muttered  the  Jew.  "But  why  oxpose 
your  vorks  to  the  wulgar?  Vait  till  fame  comes 
239 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

to  you!  Ve  vill  aid,  ve  vill  find  you  batrons. 
Vhen  baintings  sell  at  these  zales,  and  the  brice 
is  low,  the  artist  zeldom  escapes  the  injury  done 
his  reputation.  Ve  vill  throw  the  prestige  of  our 
name  about  the  hand  that  colored  the  conception 
of  a  great  thought  into  the  reality  of  berfection. 
Ve  zold  that  landscape  'Hope'  for  vive  bounds" — 
without  a  sign  of  hesitation  at  the  deception  (he 
had  received  fifty  pounds  for  the  painting) — 
"and  this — Fader  of  Abraham!"  turning  once 
more  to  the  canvas,  "is  even  better  and  a  greater 
picture  than  that." 

"I  thank  you  for  your  favorable  opinion  of  its 
merits." 

"My  broder  and  I,  ve  encourage  our  tenants. 
Ve  give  you  ten  bounds  for  this;  ve  don't  mind  ve 
be  sheated.  Ve  encourage  our  tenants.  Fader  of 
Abraham!  Ten  bounds!  I  have  said  it." 

"Not  this  afternoon;  it  is  not  finished." 

"Ten  bounds  and  a  quarter  rent,"  the  Jew  came 
at  him  again. 

"Not  to-day,  Mr.  Ikestine." 

"I  vill  call  to-morrow  wid  a  receipt.  Money  is 
close,  bisiness  is  dull.  Mine  God!  Dose  auction 
sales  vill  ruin  the  firm  of  Ikestine."  The  Jew  shot 
a  lingering  glance  at  the  canvas,  bowed  and  with- 
drew. 

As  he  quitted  the  room  the  artist  leaned  against 
a  wooden  shelf.  The  words  of  his  recent  visitor 
240 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

sunk  deep.  "I  had  thought  to  receive  a  hundred 
pounds  for  this.  I  need  so  many  things.  My 
clothes  are  threadbare;  I  am  destitute.  No 
money,  perhaps,  no  friends.  'Ten  pounds  and  a 
quarter's  rent.'  Well,  maybe  it  is  all  it's  worth." 
He  raised  a  paper  beneath  which  he  had  con- 
cealed a  meager  lunch,  picked  up  a  biscuit  and  be- 
gan to  partake  of  the  meal  interrupted  by  the  ad- 
vent of  the  Jew,  mastication  being  aided  by  an 
occasional  swallow  of  water  from  an  earthen  ves- 
sel standing  upon  the  table.  After  these  frugal 
refreshments,  the  young  artist  made  preparations 
to  resume  work,  when  a  voice  accosted  him. 

"Hard  at  it,  as  usual,  eh?" 

"You — you  here,  Mr.  Reynolds !" 

"Why,  of  course,  my  young  friend.  You  don't 
suppose  I  am  utterly  indifferent  to  your  existence, 
I  trust.  I  come  to  ask  a  great  favor." 

"I  shall  only  be  too  happy  to  oblige,  if  it  lies 
in  my  power." 

"Well,  come  and  dine  with  me  this  evening;  I 
have  a  friend  I  want  to  introduce,"  said  Reynolds. 

"I  must — I  am  compelled — do  not  think  me  un- 
grateful; but  I  am  forced  to  decline  your  kind 
invitation.  I  shall  be  none  the  less  happy,  how- 
ever, in  affording  you  any  service  lying  in  my 
power."  The  best  garments  owned  by  this  young 
artist  were  long  since  threadbare,  and  shone  like 
the  sides  of  a  glass  bottle. 
241 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Oh,  pshaw!  You  must  come.  Say,  can  you 
give  me  a  sitting  in  a  few  weeks?" 

"Yes,  any  time." 

"This  is  a  business  transaction." 

"Why,  of  course." 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  next  week  is  sales  week,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"Yes." 

"When  do  you  get  'Renaissance'  in  the  gal- 
lery?" 

"Possibly  not  until  the  latter  part  of  the  week." 

"Sometimes  I  do  things  without  considering 
consequences.  I  have  one  in  mind  now.  I  am 
going  to  ask  you,  however,  beforehand  not  to 
think  me  officious  or  impertinent." 

"I  am  sure  I  could  not  think  of  you  as  either; 
yet  all  London  says  you  are  a  strange  man,  a  pow- 
erful man,  a  great  man." 

"Have  a  care,  sir,  you  will  make  me  vain.  Pay 
this  back  to  me  after  next  week.  Hush !  I  would 
not  cause  you  humiliation  for  principalities.  I 
know  you  are  in  need  of  it,  and  what's  the  use  of 
having  friends  if  we  don't  use  them?  Be  sure  and 
come  at  seven  o'clock  sharp.  As  my  friendship 
has  been  of  some  service  to  you  in  the  past,  I  shall 
demand  your  friendship  when  you  become  famous, 
a  sort  of  reciprocity,  as  it  were."  Without  wait- 
ing for  the  surprised  artist  to  reply,  the  visitor 
departed. 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Lieb,  at  first  blush,  was  inclined  to  be  indig- 
nant; but  that  impulse  passed  away,  and  he  se- 
cretly blessed  the  friend  advancing  the  loan  of 
which  he  stood  in  such  sore  need. 

There  were  five  ten-pound  Bank  of  England 
notes  lying  upon  the  table.  As  yet  he  had  not 
touched  the  new,  crisp  bills.  "I  ought  not, 
should  not  accept  this  favor;  and  still,  it  would 
offend  him,  and  he  has  shown  me  so  many  proofs 
of  his  kindness;  besides,  I  have  a  dozen  uses  for 
money,"  approaching  nearer  the  table.  "My 
painting  will  bring  twenty  pounds  at  least. 
Week  after  next  I  can  return  it.  The  Jew  will  be 
after  his  rent  to-morrow ;  and  if  I  go  to  Reynolds 
this  evening  I  must  have  a  pair  of  shoes  and  a 
necktie.  My  wardrobe  belongs  to  the  Adam  and 
Eve  period.  I  wonder  who  it  is  will  be  present 
at  Reynolds'  to-night?"  He  folded  the  five  notes 
and  stored  them  away  carefully  in  his  pocket. 

That  evening  the  young  artist  was  admitted  to 
the  unpretentious  suite  of  rooms  occupied  by  Ed- 
ward Reynolds. 

"I  should  have  been  greatly  disappointed  had 
you  not  come,"  said  the  host,  rising  and  extending 
his  hand  cordially. 

"I  owe  you  such  a  debt  of  gratitude,"  asserted 
the  artist,  "that  your  wishes  are  my  commands." 

"I  fail  to  see  where  the  gratitude  comes  in;  if 
anything,  I  am  your  debtor.  You  have  been  a 
243 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

source  of  pleasure  to  me  these  many  years  as  I 
have  watched  you  progressing  so  rapidly  in  your 
accepted  calling.  This  has  been  a  diversion,  occu- 
pying my  mind,  but  for  which,  along  with  various 
other  duties,  I  should  have  fallen  a  victim  of  de- 
pression. It  has  been,  by  no  means,  one-sided;  so 
there  now,  ease  your  mind  on  that  score." 

"Mr.  Reynolds,  I  should  have  despaired  so 
many  times  during  the  past  years,  except  for  your 
sympathy  and  encouragement.  I  learned  to  look 
forward  to  your  visits  with  eager  anticipation;  I 
labored  to  win  your  approbation.  Many,  many 
times,  when  I  have  felt  like  turning  back  and  flee- 
ing from  the  narrow  and  perilous  paths  leading  to 
those  inaccessible  heights  so  few  attain,  to  rest  in 
the  cool  of  sylvan  shade,  and  to  bathe  my  dust- 
stained  limbs  in  crystal  streams  whose  murmurs 
are  always  heard  but  never  seen  by  the  few  soli- 
tary wayfarers  seeking  fame,  I  have  been  held  in 
the  rugged  course  by  the  thought:  'What  would 
Reynolds  say?'  There  have  been  moments  when, 
even  against  my  better  judgment,  I  have  fancied 
you  an  implacable  enemy,  binding  me  closer  to  a 
destiny  from  which  I  could  not,  yet  felt  I  must, 
escape.  I  clung  to  the  brush  unconsciously  be- 
cause you  willed  me  to  the  canvas  without  the  ex- 
ercise of  volition  on  my  part ;  and  yet — and  yet — 
Mr.  Reynolds,"  continued  the  artist,  looking  away 
from  the  face  of  his  friend,  "I  am  completely 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

fagged  and  jaded.  I  never  felt  so  weak  as  at  the 
present  moment.  The  future  is  so  uncertain.  I 
have  exhausted  my  substance,  and  as  the  purse  has 
become  lighter  confidence  has  proportionately  dis- 
appeared. Fame  is  illusory ;  it  mocks  and  maddens 
and  beckons  onward;  it  laughs  cruelly,  pitilessly 
at  the  expiring  victims  perishing  in  its  pursuit, 
while,  with  fingers  cold  as  Iceland  snow,  it  fits 
laurel  wreathes  of  immortality  to  the  lone  survi- 
vor's brow.  Oh,  the  ego,"  exclaimed  the  speaker 
passionately,  "so  strong  in  every  man  that  makes 
sacrifice  for  excellence,  becomes  impatient  and  ac- 
cuses the  world  of  stupidity  and  inapprecia- 
tion !" 

"Ah!  never  get  morbid.  Go  plunge  and  drown 
in  that  'Crystal  Stream'  if  you  wish,  but  don't 
get  morbid.  Perhaps  I  can  see  in  your  complaint 
a  tinge  of  envy.  Merit  is  a  meed,  my  young 
friend,  claimed  by  every  man  according  to  his  just 
deserts.  The  world  may  be  slow  to  accept  and 
recognize  the  true  and  intrinsic  value  of  many  la- 
bors ;  but,  sooner  or  later,  the  latch-string  is  lifted 
and  the  tardy  guest  for  whom  so  many  wait  is 
sure  to  enter.  You  will  learn  to  despise  the  causes 
that  now  incite  to  crowning  efforts.  That  time 
will  come  when  you  shall  look  back  upon  this  ex- 
perience as  the  crucial  test  that  an  all-wise  Provi- 
dence saw  fit  to  impdse  in  your  behalf.  If  I  have 
found  you  disheartened — sometimes  on  the  point 
245 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

of  vacillating — and  have  stimulated  the  flagging 
courage  to  tasks,  it  was  because  I  knew  triumph 
awaited  you.  My  young  friend,  you  have  genius, 
and  the  God  that  gave  you  that  genius  exacts  a 
service  in  the  interests  of  mankind.  He  makes 
you  an  instrument — a  means  to  an  end.  Art 
to-day  is  mediocre.  Painters  are  using  oils  and 
pigments  in  the  representation  of  characters  and 
objects  already  stamped  with  the  shadows  of  ap- 
proaching night.  To-morrow  conditions  change, 
and  the  artist  so  popular  to-day  is  unprepared  for 
the  change  of  public  opinion,  and  is  fated  to  look 
upon  his  labor  as  little  better  than  wasted.  The 
scenes  of  life  are  ever  shifting  and  the  dawn  of  a 
new  era  is  peeping  from  behind  colossal  blunders 
of  the  past  and  present.  The  number  is  limited 
that  shall  survive  the  heat  and  glare  of  the  coming 
day.  Nature  is  the  dame  that  gives  birth  to  un- 
dying events.  Among  the  records  which  alone  are 
the  handiwork  of  God  is  found  the  abiding  prin- 
ciples of  truth.  He  that  seeks  here  shall  not  seek 
in  vain.  When  one  builds  elsewhere,  however  he 
builds  and  well,  defects  appear  when  exposed  to 
the  test  of  time  and  the  inevitable  penalty  for  vio- 
lation of  the  law  which  none  may  disregard — 
oblivion — begins  to  date  from  the  period  of  the 
transgression.  What  little  things,  insignificant  in 
themselves,  mar  the  works  of  beauty!  Error  is 
perpetuated  as  well  as  truth;  but  they  never  mix. 
246 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

'  Each  has  her  votaries;  but  the  purpose  each  ful- 
fills is  as  wide  apart  as  the  antipodes." 

"True,  but  the  semblance  between  truth  and 
error  is  so  real,  oft-times,  that  the  detection  of  the 
deception  is  impossible,"  said  the  artist. 

"Not  so.  The  similitude  may  be  close,  still  the 
relation  is  never  that  intimate  that  discovery  of 
the  genuine  is  prevented.  It  is  in  this,  as  in  all 
else,  a  person  must  perfect  himself  in  order  to 
guard  against  imposition.  It  does  not  avail  a 
man  that  he  is  deceived  by  the  guile  and  practices 
of  another.  What  resistance  was  made?  What 
precaution  taken?  What  agencies  employed?  He 
that  keeps  his  lamps  burning  brightly,  by  con- 
stant trimming  and  attention,  is  the  one  that  en- 
tertains no  forbidden  guests.  Fallacies  are  prev- 
alent because  they  are  popular;  they  are  popular 
because  they  are  pleasant;  and  they  are  pleasant 
because  of  the  piquancy  which  attaches  to  them  in 
the  minds  of  the  multitude,  without  reflecting  suf- 
ficiently upon  the  quality  of  the  pleasure,  or  the 
emotion  produced  by  it.  Growth  and  develop- 
ment are  conditions  that  admit  of  no  compromise 
with  error,  however  firmly  seated  in  public  favor 
the  latter  may  be.  He,  contented  to  sleep  in  the 
shallow  affection  of  a  thoughtless  age,  is  the 
courtier  basking  in  the  smiles  of  an  inconstant 
prince.  Whatever  man  does  is  not  lost,  either  for 
good  or  for  evil.  The  age  in  which  he  lives  may 
247 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

be  unprepared  to  receive  the  truths  which  he  scat- 
ters at  its  feet,  but  every  advance  step  is  noted 
and  imperceptibly  the  imprint  is  stamped  indel- 
ibly. The  trouble  is  we  expect  to  realize  too  soon. 
One  rushes  from  the  beaten  path  and,  seeking  the 
highest  eminence,  holds  aloft  the  beacon  blazing 
with  the  choicest  fagots  of  the  mind  to  wonder  in 
amazement  at  the  apathy  of  the  world.  Many 
become  soured  by  what  they  choose  to  term  neg- 
lect, and  their  usefulness  is  destroyed.  Nothing 
seems  realized  from  the  investment  of  every  fac- 
ulty, where  so  much  was  anticipated.  The  great 
pity  of  it  is  that  he  who,  like  the  priests  of  old, 
never  suffered  the  fire  to  become  extinguished  upon 
the  temple  altars  of  Delphi  and  Vesta,  by  tireless 
vigils  of  guarding  the  sacred  flame,  falls  at  last 
exhausted,  and  is  consumed  by  the  conflagration 
of  his  own  kindling.  But  the  reflections  of  those 
charred  embers  have  been  photographed  upon  the 
ages  to  come,  and  are  destined  to  illumine  the 
pathway  of  future  progress." 

"But,"  asked  the  artist,  "has  a  man  a  right  to 
seek  the  isolation  of  which  you  speak?  To  prac- 
tice self-abnegation  to  such  extent?  The  social 
obligations  of  life  are  demands  not  to  be  easily 
cast  aside.  A  man  isolating  himself  from  his  fel- 
lows, although  he  may  solve  a  portion  of  the  prob- 
lems of  true  economics,  loses  the  valued  privileges 
himself,  and  fails  in  existence.  Whoever  sur- 
248 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

renders  his  life  absolutely  and  toils  ceaselessly  for 
the  advancement  of  his  fellowmen  suffers,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  the  throes  of  martyrdom." 

"Yours  is  the  doctrine  of  the  school  that  holds, 
'Eat,  drink  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  ye  may 
die.'  No,  my  young  friend,  on  the  contrary,  the 
true  benefactor  does  not  withdraw  from  his  kind; 
rather  he  mingles  with  men.  It  is  only  by  inti- 
macy and  a  knowledge  of  human  nature  that  he 
comes  to  know  the  requirements  of  his  race,  and  in 
supplying  the  essential  needs  of  the  physical  and 
mental  man  is  unfolded  the  divine  purpose  of  the 
life,  which  the  Creator  gives  in  trust  to  be  used, 
not  selfishly  in  obtaining  private  ends  and  the 
gratification  of  personal  pleasures  and  pursuits,  as 
so  many  mistake,  but  for  the  advancement,  ele- 
vation and  ennobling  of  the  composite  members  of 
a  great  family." 

"You  are  right,  perhaps ;  yet,  in  the  warmth  of 
youth,  it  is  cheerless  to  contemplate  sitting  by  this 
frozen  image  of  your  description  until  the  blood 
is  congealed.  The  imagination  of  the  artist  re- 
linquishes under  protest  the  pleasures  of  youth  to 
bathe  in  the  icy  fountains  of  your  philosophy. 
You  would  have  one  give,  not  only  a  part,  but  all, 
to  a  mistress  exacting  but  never  giving  in  return. 
Mr.  Reynolds,  the  ties  of  a  happy  home  have  been 
the  dream  of  my  life.  To  lay  down  the  labors  of 
the  day,  to  find  relaxation  in  the  love  of  a  true 
249 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

woman  and  the  charm  of  a  holy  fireside,  is  a  pic- 
ture excelling  human  art,  because  God  has  painted 
it  upon  the  soul  of  every  man,"  said  Lieb. 

"Others  have  dreamed  that  dream.  The  white 
wings  of  love,  my  boy,  are  seen  best  in  the  morn- 
ing of  life.  Why,  there  are  millions  of  both  men 
and  women  in  this  great  world  of  ours  from  whose 
cheerless  lives  the  happiness  of  home  ties  is  forever 
lost.  There  is  neither  chart  nor  compass  for 
them.  What  you  say  is  true.  God  paints  a  pic- 
ture upon  the  soul  of  every  man  and  every  woman. 
I  have  wondered  if  the  colors  of  that  picture  are 
indelible?  If  they  do  not  fade  with  years?  If 
the  hues  never  dim?  If  the  canvas  never  rots? 
If  the  gorgeous  prism  never  becomes  obscure  and 
subdued  in  the  flashlights  of  the  soul?  Many  of 
us  are  disposed  to  become  pessimists  in  matters  of 
the  heart.  We  accept  blindly  the  religion  of  love 
that  teaches  that  some  woman  is  created  for  every 
man,  and,  vice  versa,  some  man  for  every  woman. 
Each  is  incomplete  without  the  other.  If  they 
never  meet,  there  is  rest  and  peace  for  neither. 
Man  without  a  home,  without  a  wife  and  children, 
is  a  stranger  to  earth's  greatest  joys.  But  the 
condition  of  this  is  that  the  woman  must  be  the 
one,  of  all  others,  his  counterpart.  Either  sex 
is  happier  single  than  mismated.  Cherish  this 
picture  of  yours  as  much  as  you  wish.  A  cheer- 
ful fireside  and  the  love  of  a  good  woman  are  not 
250 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

obstacles  in  the  way  of  any  man's  advancement. 
They  are  inspirations  to  the  professions,  to  art,  to 
science,  and  to  every  employment  upon  which 
hands  toil  and  the  brain  labors.  No  life  so 
humble,  none  so  powerful  and  great,  that  the 
charm  of  love  fails  to  brighten  and  glorify.  Let 
me  give  you  this  bit  of  advice:  if  it  shall  ever  be 
your  lot  to  love  some  woman  that  cannot  return 
your  affection,  never  descend  to  the  misogynist. 
Find  some  woman  you  can  honor  and  respect,  with 
similar  tastes,  good  impulses,  generous,  frank, 
congenial,  and  entrust  your  future  happiness  to 
her  keeping.  Yes,  sir,  there  is  nothing  in  the 
world  will  help  a  man  forget  a  woman  as  well  as 
woman."  The,  speaker  felt  what  he  was  speak- 
ing. 

The  artist  had  all  he  could  do  to  keep  his  face 
straight  at  this  sage  advice  from  one  whose  life 
was  a  refutation  of  the  doctrine  so  eloquently  ad- 
vocated. 

"Consistency,"  said  Lieb,  "is  a  jewel.  It  is  a 
trifle  singular  that,  entertaining  such  views  upon 
the  subject,  you  remain  a  bachelor." 

"I!  Oh,  well,  my  young  professor  of  polem- 
ics," laughed  Reynolds,  "your  objection  is  well 
taken.  'Practice  what  you  preach'  is  a  sequence 
from  which  it  is  difficult  to  get  away.  Still,  be- 
cause the  shoemaker  wears  the  worst  possible  foot- 
gear, and  the  tailor  the  most  dilapidated  gar- 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ments,  are  no  reasons  why  others  should  reject  the 
comforts  they  produce." 

"But  the  shoemaker  and  the  tailor,"  rejoined 
the  artist,  following  up  his  advantage  like  a  diplo- 
mat, "say,  one:  that  he  is  miserably  shod,  and,  the 
other:  that  he  wears  his  worn  raiment  because  of 
the  babies." 

"Well,"  said  Reynolds,  "do  as  I  say,  and  not  as 
I  do.  Besides,  we  separate  the  wheat  from  the 
tare.  There  is  seldom  any  life  but  a  part  thereof 
can  be  used  as  an  exemplar;  the  good  is  to  be 
emulated,  the  bad  rejected.  And,  remember,  the 
man  that  achieves  is  the  happiest." 

"Mr.  Reynolds,"  said  the  artist,  "you  assign 
me  tasks  I  am  powerless  to  perform.  Somehow 
you  take  for  granted  that  no  impediments  are  laid 
in  the  way  of  my  progress.  You  clothe  me  with 
qualities  of  mind  and  heart  which  I  do  not  pos- 
sess. Since  I  began  studying  in  a  free  school,  en- 
dowed by  your  bounty,  I  have  felt  that  you 
shaped  my  destiny.  You  have  never  dictated,  it 
is  true,  but  your  clearer  reason  has  blazed  a  way, 
and  I  have  plunged  upon  the  path,  misgiving  of 
my  strength  and  endurance,  but  feeling  that  I 
should  prefer  to  perish  in  the  undertaking  than  to 
be  seen  abandoning  the  pursuit.  I  must  tell  you 
frankly  that  I  never  felt  so  weak  and  discouraged, 
so  distant  from  the  goal,  as  at  this  moment  when 
your  assurances  are  ringing  in  my  ears." 
252 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Michael,"  said  Reynolds,  "there  is  an  old  prov- 
erb that  'It  is  always  darkest  before  dawn.'  If  I 
have  succeeded  in  imprinting  upon  your  mind  and 
character  lessons  that  shall  be  of  service  to  you, 
that  shall  avail  to  your  honor  and  that  shall  work 
to  the  glory  of  God  in  that  you  shall  be  a  bene- 
factor of  mankind,  then  I  shall  feel  that  any  in- 
strumentality which  you  are  pleased  to  credit  to 
me  has  borne  fruit  acceptably  to  Him.  My  art- 
ist friend,  we  are  to  see  less  of  each  other  in  the 
future.  Your  life  is  beginning,  the  future 
spreads  out  before  you;  mine  has  reached  its  me- 
ridian. The  road  we  have  traveled  in  part  together 
is  separating.  The  influences  of  which  you  com- 
plain are  becoming  relaxed.  The  world  is  prepar- 
ing to  fall  at  your  feet.  In  parting  I  have  this 
favor  to  ask,  never  forget  that  you  are  a  man  and 
that  the  ties  of  a  common  fellowship  unite  man- 
kind in  one  great  brotherhood." 

"Whatever  betides  me,"  exclaimed  the  artist, 
fervently,  "I  shall  remember  and  keep  your  wish 
most  religiously;  and  in  whatever  fields  my  for- 
tunes may  be  cast,  it  shall  be  my  constant  endeavor 
to  imitate  the  example  of  my  noble  benefactor." 

Mr.  Wilstach  of  Philadelphia  was  announced  at 
this  moment.  The  new  comer  was  a  merchant 
prince  of  America,  and  one  of  the  best  known  pat- 
rons of  art  of  the  United  States.  Edward  Rey- 
n«lds  introduced  his  two  visitors  and  the  young 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

artist  forgot  his  shabby  clothes  in  the  pleasant 
companionship  of  his  host  and  of  the  founder  of 
the  Art  Gallery  of  Memorial  Hall,  Philadelphia. 

It  was  11  o'clock  p.  M.  when  Edward  Reynolds 
accompanied  the  artist  to  the  street  in  parting. 
While  they  stood  facing  each  other  a  moment  be- 
fore passing  the  good  night,  the  artist  inquired  to 
what  it  was  the  other  had  referred  earlier  in  the 
day  at  the  studio. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do  not  want  you  to  sell  'Renais- 
sance' to  the  Israelite." 

The  younger  man  blushed. 

"Then  you  heard  what  took  place  during  the 
Jew's  presence  at  the  studio?" 

"Yes,  I  confess  to  seeing  him  entering  your 
rooms  and  followed,"  said  Reynolds.  "Jews  are 
natural  leeches  and  I  did  not  care  to  have  him 
pinch  your  neck.  Promise  me  you  won't  sell  to  the 
Jew  without  my  consent,  or  without  at  first  giving 
me  an  option  to  buy  your  painting." 

"Certainly,  if  you  desire  it  so." 

The  two  men  exchanged  parting  salutations. 


254 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  following  morning  Edward  Reynolds  slept 
later  than  usual.  Troublesome  dreams  had  dis- 
turbed his  slumbers.  The  conversation  he  had 
had  with  the  artist  seemed  to  have  been  running 
ceaselessly  in  his  sleep. 

"Dreams  do  not  always  go  contrarily,"  he 
mused,  "Alice  Richards  is  forever  separated  from 
me  by  another's  shadow.  If  every  impediment 
were  removed  from  our  union,  I  should  fancy  a 
ghost  between  us.  Feeling  as  I  do,  what  right  has 
she  to  stand  as  a  sentinel  at  the  altar  to  prevent 
the  marriage  ordinance  with  another? 

"Is  it  true,  I  wonder,  that  nothing  helps  man 
forget  woman,  as  well  as  woman;  or  is  it  some 
conceit  of  the  brain?  It  sounds  plausibly.  My 
life  is  unsatisfactory.  The  picture  that  God 
paints  upon  every  soul,  as  Lieb  describes,  is  cov- 
ered with  a  dark  veil.  I  cannot  see  it  for  the 
heavy  drapery.  The  fireside,  wife  and  children  is 
the  central  instinct  of  our  nature,  and  because  the 
hand  of  a  fair  iconoclast  has  mined  the  temple  and 
broken  the  idols,  is  it  reason  why  another  fair  hand 
should  not  restore  order  out  of  the  chaos?  I  won- 
der if  Lord  Howe  heard,  while  in  America,  of  the 
broken  engagement  between  Alice  and  myself. 
255 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Miss  Rivers,  who  came  with  him  when  he  called  to 
return  the  clipping,  and  to  thank  me  for  my  part 
in  the  restoration  of  his  grandson,  is  very  beauti- 
ful. She  is  greatly  interested  in  the  school.  Why 
should  Alice  have  wanted  that  paper?  Lord 
Howe  might  have  given  it  to  her.  I  wish  I 
had  found  out  what  those  stains  were  before 
sending  it  to  her.  Sometimes  I  fancied  they 
were  blood;  but  how  in  the  name  of  the  Seven 
Wonders  could  blood  have  gotten  there?  Alice 
is  over  in  Paris  with  Countess  Ratcliff.  I  trust 
she  feels  better  after  that  last  act  of  demolition. 
She  and  St.  Clair  must  have  made  a  picture  feed- 
ing the  hungry  Schuylkill  with  my  humble  offer- 
ings. Still,  I  should  like  her  child  to  have  the 
property  regardless  of  her  pretty  scruples  to 
the  contrary.  I  wonder  if  she,  too,  has  grown 
old  and  gray.  Woman  shows  less  than  man 
the  ravages  of  time.  Well,  be  she  old  and 
ugly,  or  young  and  beautiful  as  a  houri,  I  shall 
never  see  her  again.  After  Wilstach  and  his  wife 
return  to  America,  I  shall  take  a  vacation — lose 
myself.  I  may  as  well  go  upon  the  long  promised 
trip  to  Switzerland  one  time  as  another.  The 
doctor  tells  me  I  am  overworked  and  require  rest. 
What  necessary  and  convenient  members  of  so- 
ciety physicians  are.  I,  overworked!  The  phy- 
sician diagnoses  a  case  something  after  this 
formula:  'Tongue  coated;  pulse  lacks  elasticity; 
256 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

head  dull  and  heavy ;  more  or  less  insomnia ;  bad 
dreams ;  occasional  pain  in  back,'  and  concludes  by 
recommending  idleness.  There  is  scarcely  a  mal- 
ady known  to  the  profession,  but  indicates  one  or 
more  of  these  phases.  However,  I  have  no  leisure 
for  his  tonic.  Matters  here  are  active  and  not  pas- 
sive, to  say  nothing  about  the  half  finished  book. 
Still,  I  might  take  the  manuscript  with  me 
and  complete  it  in  Switzerland.  That's  what 
I  will  do.  I'll  find  a  batch  of  natives,  in 
some  secluded  Canton,  who  can  neither  speak 
nor  write  a  word  of  English,  and  among  them  I 
will  rusticate,  finish  the  book  and  rest.  Alice  will 
come  to  London,  by  and  by,  and,  Merciful  God, 
if  I  should  meet  her  face  to  face!  My  heart 
would  give  one  great  bound  and  stop  beating.  I 
have  fancied  that  in  a  strange  place,  far  away 
I  shall  meet  her  some  day  face  to  face  and  fall  at 
her  feet,  with  only  strength  enough  to  tell  her 
that  I  love  her  still.  It  would  be  euthanasia. 
I  half  hope  it  may  be  so.  Some  clever  writer 
says:  'Love  is  a  species  of  insanity.'  There  must 
be  several  varieties.  I  have  known  specious  na- 
tures with  capacity  to  adore  every  woman  they 
meet — enviable  creatures.  Others  again  contract 
the  disease  and  are  forever  immune.  Why  should 
I  not  marry  Miss  Rivers?  The  charm  and  grace 
of  her  person  and  mind  are  infinitely  sweet  and 
lovable.  She  talks,  to  be  sure,  but  it  is  sense  and 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

music — every  syllable.  Lord  Howe  wants  me  to 
run  down  a  day  or  two  next  week.  Mr.  Rivers  is  to 
be  there.  Nothing  shall  please  me  better  than  to 
go.  I  more  than  half  suspect  he  wants  the  influence 
of  my  boys  at  the  approaching  election.  I  have 
kept  hands  off  politics.  Once  having  lived  in  Phila- 
delphia, I  naturally  prefer  to  show  slight  ac- 
quaintance with  statescraft.  Political  corruption 
of  Pennsylvania  reconciles  one  to  residence  abroad. 
A  man  displaying  political  acumen  in  Pennsyl- 
vania could  not  retain  character  if  it  were  ce- 
mented in  the  corner  stone  of  a  church.  I 
know  the  boys  would  do  as  I  say;  but  I  shall 
place  no  fetters  upon  their  political  opinions,  even 
though  Rivers — yes,  and  daughter,  too — should 
ask  me  to  do  so.  My  head  does  thump.  Guess 
I'd  better  dress  and  spin  off  a  couple  of  miles. 
Walking  is  constitutional.  Then  I'll  eat  and  get 
into  the  harness  again.  Wilstach  says  that  Lieb 
is  a  genius;  that  he'll  shake  the  Art  world  yet 
from  center  to  circumference.  I  had  him  go  up 
and  inspect  'Renaissance.'  He  tells  me  the 
painting  is  worth  a  cool  $30,000.  The  walls  of  my 
rooms  are  destitute.  I  believe  that  I  want  that 
painting  myself.  To-morrow  is  opening  day  of 
the  sales.  That  infernal  Jew  has  convinced  Lieb 
that  twenty  pounds  is  a  liberal  offer  for  the  paint- 
ing. Lieb  would  have  sold  it  to  him  but  for 
his  promise.  The  boy  does  not  dream  of  his  com- 
258 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ing  fame  and  popularity.  To-morrow,  perhaps 
the  day  after,  that  young  prodigy  of  mine  will  set 
the  Art  world  agog.  I'll  set  that  hook-nosed  Ike- 
stine  a  pace  he'll  remember  to  his  dying  day. 
He'll  not  quit  bidding  as  long  as  there's  a  penny 
in  the  business.  I'll  make  the  unbeliever  groan. 
Well,  this  will  never  do."  Edward  Reynolds  sprang 
from  the  bed,  shortly  afterwards  emerging  into 
the  street  for  the  appetizing  exercise  of  an  hour's 
walk. 

That  afternoon  three  ladies  were  examining  the 
paintings  artistically  arranged  about  the  walls  of 
an  immense  hall,  situated  upon  one  of  the  main 
thoroughfares  of  London.  Mrs.  Wilstach  of 
Philadelphia  was  fully  as  enthusiastic  as  her  hus- 
band over  art.  They  had  resolved  to  establish  one 
of  the  finest  collections  in  the  United  States,  with 
the  object  in  view  of  eventually  bestowing  the 
same  on  the  City  of  Philadelphia.  Mrs.  Wilstach 
had  requested  her  friends,  Countess  Ratcliff  and 
Alice  Eldridge,  to  accompany  her  to  Exhibition 
Hall.  She  desired  to  visit  the  place  before  the 
sales  commenced,  in  order  to  examine  the  paint- 
ings at  leisure  and  to  fix  a  value  upon  such  as  she 
intended  purchasing. 

"Mr.  Wilstach,"  remarked  his  wife,  "desires 
me  to  look  closely  at  Renaissance,  the  initial  pro- 
duction of  one  Michael  Lieb,  but  I  have  not  come 
across  it  yet." 

259 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"This  must  be  it,"  said  Alice,  who  was  a  few 
paces  in  advance  of  her  companions,  pointing  at  a 
painting  before  her. 

"Indeed,  it  is,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilstach,  her  eyes 
resting  upon  the  large  canvas  in  admiration.  "It 
is  a  treasure.  What  sublime  power  of  conception 
and  execution !  The  technique  is  perfect,"  she  de- 
clared, after  a  critical  survey. 

"Is  it  not  singular  we  find  such  genius  here?" 
inquired  Alice,  visibly  affected  by  the  paint- 
ing. 

"You  see,  the  artist  is  unknown — without  a 
reputation,"  explained  Mrs.  Wilstach,  "and, 
doubtless,  finds  himself  compelled  to  realize  on  his 
work.  Again,  he  takes  this  opportunity  of  meet- 
ing the  public.  By  the  way,  we  have  seen  a  num- 
ber of  high-grade  paintings  from  amateur  artists 
already,  whose  future  will  be  made  by  reason  of 
these  sales.  Their  names  will  be  advertised  and 
blazoned  before  the  public.  The  creations  of  their 
brush  hereafter  will  come  high.  This  picture  is 
worth  $25,000  or  $30,000  in  the  judgment  of 
Mr.  Wilstach.  My  husband  met  the  artist  re- 
cently and  is  tireless  in  sounding  his  praise." 

"Michael  Lieb,"  read  the  Countess  aloud  from 
the  lower  corner  of  the  canvas.  "Surely  one  would 
not  look  for  great  imagination  in  the  name,"  she 
volunteered,  smiling. 

"With  German  ladies,"  ventured  the  wife  of  the 
260 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

art  collector,  "his  cognomen  would  be  at  a  prem- 
ium." 

"What's  in  a  name?"  laughed  Alice.  "The  art- 
ist is  clearly  of  German  origin.  But  Germany  is 
the  mother  of  many  of  the  great  masters.  1  am  so 
much  of  a  dilettante  in  art  questions  that  I  hardly 
venture  an  opinion  beyond  the  nationality  of  the 
artist." 

"He  is  one  of  Edward  Reynolds'  proteges," 
continued  Mrs.  Wilstach.  "I  don't  remember  my 
husband's  mentioning  how  Mr.  Reynolds  discov- 
ered the  talent  of  the  artist.  I  recollect,  however, 
his  saying  that  Lieb  is  prouder  than  Lucifer, 
and  has  a  right  to  be,  because  he  is  poorer  than 
Lazarus.  It  appears  that  after  making  some 
progress  at  the  easel,  he  refused  to  accept  further 
assistance  from  his  benefactor,  and  engaged  as  a 
clerk  in  a  mercantile  establishment  of  London,  in 
order  that  he  might  be  independent.  Mr.  Reyn- 
olds had  to  hunt  up  an  uncle  of  the  lad,  who,  of 
course,  died  conveniently,  or  pretended  to  do  so, 
bequeathing  the  boy  three  thousand  pounds. 
Young  Lieb  no  sooner  received  his  legacy,  than  he 
resigned  his  position  and  began  mixing  pigments, 
with  the  result  of  the  painting  before  us.  He  still 
remains  ignorant  of  the  deception  practiced  upon 
him." 

After  the  ladies  had  resumed  their  round  of 
inspection,  Alice  returned  and  took  her  position 
261 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

before  Renaissance.  It  seemed  to  talk  back  to 
her — to  tell  her  of  the  unselfish  life  of  the  man 
with  whom  she  had  broken  faith  long  years  ago. 
The  painting  possessed  a  charm,  a  fascination  for 
her.  In  the  presence  of  that  picture,  she  fancied 
she  was  standing  nearer  the  great  soul  she  had 
wounded  so  mortally.  She  reached  out  her  hand 
and  touched  softly — even  caressingly — the  trans- 
parent diaphanous  glass  guarding  the  painting 
from  too  curious  observers.  It  was  an  appeal  for 
forgiveness.  The  touch  chilled  like  the  touch  of 
a  cold  hand  that  had  clasped  hers  years  before, 
while  the  face  in  the  background  of  the  painting 
seemed  looking  at  her  reproachfully. 

At  the  left  of  the  picture  a  stack  of  fagots  was 
piled  about  a  fair  form.  A  fanatic,  representing 
ignorance  and  superstition,  was  seen  kneeling  and 
blowing  a  few  embers  to  ignite  the  combustible 
material.  The  beautiful  victim  was  pinioned  to 
the  stake,  clasping  a  crucifix,  her  uplifted  face 
containing  the  fortitude  of  a  great  faith.  Stu- 
pendous heaps  of  ruins  were  scattered  in  the  path- 
way of  the  vandalism  of  the  Dark  Ages,  while  a 
form  in  the  background,  bearing  aloft  in  her  right 
hand  the  torch  of  reason,  was  slowly  advancing. 
Hideous  monsters  screened  their  eyes  with  long 
bony  fingers  from  the  effulgent  rays  of  that 
beacon.  The  ages  to  come  were  to  yield  to  that 
approaching  vision.  Light  was  to  take  the  place 
262 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

«  of  darkness;  order,  to  come  out  of  chaos;  reason, 
to  resume  her  sway ;  progress,  with  ceaseless  march, 
was  to  traverse  the  universe.  It  was  the  dawn  of 
resplendent  morning  breaking  upon  midnight. 
The  atrocities  of  superstition,  the  violence  of  ig- 
norance were  seeking  refuge  from  the  rays  of 
that  quenchless  torch  behind  ruins  of  their  own 
desolation. 

The  thought  was  so  vivid  and  realistic,  Alice 
fancied  she  detected  hope  springing  to  the  face 
of  the  form  in  bondage  as  the  distant  rays  of  il- 
lumination fell  upon  the  promised  holocaust.  The 
figure  at  the  stake  represented  the  human  race, 
the  one  in  the  background  the  resurrection  of 
reason  that  had  lain  five  centuries  dead,  while  the 
hideous  visages  of  ignorance  and  superstition  were 
appalled  before  the  blinding  rays  of  that  calcium 
light. 

"This  is  to  be  sold  to-morrow,"  muttered  the 
solitary  woman  standing  before  Renaissance.  It 
was  to  her  excited  imagination,  sacrilegious.  She 
incorporated  that  work  of  excellence  a  part  of 
Edward  Reynolds.  He,  in  a  way,  had  created, 
fashioned  it,  and  it  was  to  be  vulgarly  offered  at 
public  auction  to  the  highest  bidder.  A  strange 
light  gleamed  in  the  depths  of  those  blue  eyes. 
Alice  Eldridge  had  formed  a  purpose.  That 
painting  should  be  hers,  whoever  entered  the  list 
of  bidders. 

263 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Oh,  that  someone,  among  the  hundreds  that 
will  be  present  beside  myself,  shall  bid !  bid !  bid !" 
she  exclaimed. 

Mrs.  Wilstach  and  the  Countess  at  last  found 
Alice.  There  was  a  suspicion  of  moisture  upon 
those  large,  dark  eyelashes. 

"We  have  been  playing  the  game  of  hide  and 
seek.  Answer,  did  we  lose  you,  or,  did  you  lose 
us?"  demanded  the  Countess. 

"I  returned  a  moment,"  replied  Alice,  "the 
painting  haunted  me.  I  shall  bid  to-morrow  for 
Renaissance." 

"  *A  moment !'  "  repeated  Mrs.  Wilstach,  "why, 
we  have  been  searching  for  you  the  past  hour; 
and  I  warrant  you  have  been  crouching  like  a  fair 
devotee  doing  penance  before  the  monstrosities  of 
the  Sixteenth  Century  priestcraft,  as  conjured  in 
the  creative  brain  of  Painter  Lieb." 

Alice  and  the  Countess  accompanied  Mrs.  Wil- 
stach to  the  latter's  apartments  upon  leaving  the 
gallery. 

The  Duke  of  Berwick  had  seen  the  announce- 
ment of  Mrs.  Eldridge's  arrival  in  the  society 
columns  of  the  London  press,  and  had  already  con- 
ventionally called  to  pay  his  respects  to  Alice, 
meeting  for  the  first  time  her  friends. 

"I  hear  favorable  reports  of  the  duke  since  com- 
ing into  possession  of  the  Berwick  estates,"  de- 
clared Mrs.  Wilstach.  "He  has  dropped  his  former 
264 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

associates.  Sycophants  are  not  easily  shaken.  To 
illustrate,  one  of  the  number  called,  as  soon  as  he 
had  ascertained  the  location  of  the  duke  after  his 
return  to  London,  to  pay  addresses  to  the  new 
titles  and  to  congratulate  his  former  companion. 
The  adventurer  was  given  such  a  reception  that 
the  others,  awaiting  results  outside,  have  not  fully 
recovered  from  surprise,  nor  have  they  had  the 
temerity  to  invite  a  similar  experience.  The 
story  of  the  interview  is  reported  as  follows: 

"  'Why,  how  do  you  do,  Duke  of  Berwick?'  ex- 
claimed the  caller,  gushingly.  'I  have  been  dying 
to  see  you.  Your  new  honors  fit  you  charmingly,' 
extending  a  welcoming  hand.  The  duke  pretend- 
ed not  to  see  the  proffered  fingers. 

"  'You  appear  in  tolerably  good  health,'  said 
the  duke;  'I  hope  appearances  are  not  deceitful.' 
The  visitor  was  unabashed.  His  type  of  men  are 
not  easily  crushed.  'I  believe  I  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you  before,'  continued  the 
duke  decisively.  "And  it  strikes  me  that  I  once 
requested  the  loan  of  a  trifling  sum  before  my  de- 
parture. If  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  advise  me 
of  the  extent  of  my  obligations,  I  shall  reimburse 
you  promptly,'  extracting  from  his  pocket  a  well- 
filled  wallet. 

"  'Oh,  no,'  corrected  the  visitor  uneasily,  'I  am 
on  no  such  miserable  errand.  I — in  fact,  some  of 

the  boys  are  giving  a  banquet  at  Club. 

265 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

We  felt,  don't  you  know,  that  it  would  be  more 
natural-like  to  recognize  your  familiar  face  at  the 
boards.  We  have  reserved  your  old  seat  for  your 
pleasure.  Besides,  as  you  remember,  I  did  not 
happen  to  have  my  purse  with  me  at  the  time  you 
mentioned  the  subject  of  a  loan.' 

"  'Well,  I  regret  to  disappoint  you  in  club 
circles,  but  my  engagements  demand  much  of 
my  time.'  Whereupon,  going  to  a  cabinet,  he  se- 
cured a  late  photograph  of  himself,  which  he 
brought  and  placed  in  the  hands  of  his  visitor. 

"  'I  am  more  than  delighted !'  exclaimed  that 
gentleman,  well  pleased  with  the  token  of  esteem. 

"  'Hereafter,'  remarked  the  duke  deliberately, 
'when  you  have  those  sinking  spells  to  see  me  you 
may  gaze  upon  that,'  indicating  the  profile,  'and 
economize  cab  hire.  I  trust  we  have  no  further 
use  for  each  other.'  And  calling  a  servant,  he  di- 
rected that  his  visitor  be  conducted  to  the  door." 

Alice  was  glad  to  learn  of  the  alterations  in  the 
manner  of  the  duke's  life. 

"Perhaps  his  visit  to  America  improved  his 
habits,"  suggested  the  countess,  glancing  at  Alice 
inquisitively. 

"More  likely  it  was  the  company  he  kept,"  re- 
torted that  lady. 

"Probably,"  smiled  Mrs.  Wilstach;  "it  occurs 
to  me  that  it  was  intimated  he  was  quite  devoted." 

"Oh,  yes,  and  a  voyage,  too!"  chimed  in  the 
266 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

•  countess.  "I  shall  yet  have  my  friend  for  a 
neighbor." 

"Well,  give  him  a  sufficient  period  of  proba- 
tion," protested  Alice. 

"Capital  idea,"  remarked  the  countess ;  "we  will 
leave  fate  and  the  future  to  solve  the  problem." 

"Suppose  both  are  anticipated?"  queried  Alice. 

"How  so?"  inquired  the  countess. 

"Explain,"  demanded  Mrs.  Wilstach. 

Whereupon,  under  a  solemn  promise  of  secrecy, 
Alice  related  the  proposal  and  its  somewhat  equiv- 
ocal motives,  concluding  with  the  subsequent  re- 
deeming feature  of  the  duke's  conduct  in  making 
a  second  declaration  after  a  knowledge  of  his  good 
fortune.  There  is  no  better  proof  that  women 
can  keep  secrets  than  that  they  are  confided  in  by 
others  of  the  sex. 

"It  was  honorable  of  him,"  said  the  countess. 

"Unimpeachable,"  declared  Mrs.  Wilstach. 

"Really,  all  that  could  be  asked,  and  more  than 
might  be  expected,"  criticised  the  countess,  shak- 
ing her  finger  deprecatingly  at  her  friend. 

"After  a  voyage  across  the  water  in  Mrs.  El- 
dridge's  company,  who,  in  his  right  mind,  would 
twice  make  a  declaration  to  my  prochein-ami?" 
devouring  Alice  with  a  look  of  affection. 

"What  is  his  limit?"  suavely  asked  Mrs.  Wil- 
stach. 

"Never  you  mind,"  declared  Alice,  "if  each 
267 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

offer  is  actuated  by  better  motives  than  its  prede- 
cessor, he  can  make  as  many  as  he  chooses ;  I  shall 
entertain  them  kindly." 

The  afternoon  of  the  following  day  the  works 
of  the  struggling  and  indigent  artists  were  to  be 
offered  to  the  highest  bidders.  This  course  had 
been  found  of  advantage  upon  several  similar 
annual  occasions,  as  vast  assemblages  were  attract- 
ed, either  by  curiosity  or  with  intentions  to  make 
purchases.  Many  paintings  were  purchased  by 
philanthropic  persons  at  fancy  prices  in  order  to 
encourage  and  relieve  the  pressing  wants  of  tyros. 

In  many  instances  bids  had  been  marked  upon 
the  paintings  by  individuals  who  had  seen  them, 
but  who  were  not  to  be  present  at  the  sales.  These 
figures,  as  a  rule,  were  far  greater  than  the  intrin- 
sic value  of  the  pieces,  being  offered  because  of 
personal  interest  in  the  artists.  Nearly  all  the 
paintings,  and  there  were  hundreds  of  them,  were 
the  works  of  comparative  beginners,  who  had 
either  formed  influential  acquaintances  among  pa- 
trons of  art  or  had  ingratiated  themselves  with 
families  of  wealth. 

It  was  amusing  to  hear  the  comments  as  the  hun- 
dreds of  well-dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen  passed 
in  review  before  the  paintings. 

"I  wonder  what  that  fellow  sees  here,"  indicat- 
ing a  daub  of  a  landscape,  "that  warrants  the  ex- 
travagant figure  of  fifty  pounds?" 
268 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Fifty  pounds  is  the  equivalent  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars,  is  it  not?"  inquired  an  American 
of  the  speaker. 

"Nearly  so,"  was  the  reply. 

"Well,  then,"  replied  the  practical  Yankee,  "on 
our  side  of  the  pond  a  commission  of  lunacy  would 
be  awarded  at  the  instigation  of  the  relatives  of 
the  fellow  that  offered  two  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars for  such  painting." 

"Here  is  a  case  of  'Fool  and  his  money  soon 
part  company,'  pure  and  simple,"  said  an- 
other, pointing  at  a  worse  bargain  than  the 
former. 

One  of  these  merry  spectators  stumbled  over  an 
object  and  turned  angrily,  "A  d — n  Jew!  What 
are  you  doing  here?"  he  demanded  of  the  Israel- 
ite, "tripping  up  your  betters?  Every  infernal 
Jew  should  be  colonized.  The  whole  race  is  a 
stench  in  the  nose  of  decent  people." 

The  Jew  made  no  reply,  but  from  those  baleful 
eyes  a  look  full  of  hatred  and  malice  shot  forth  at 
his  tormentor.  If  a  glance  could  kill,  someone 
has  said,  the  Jews  would  be  great  assassins. 

"Hush,"  said  the  companion  of  the  speaker, 
giving  his  comrade's  arm  a  pinch ;  "let  up  on  your 
diatribe.  That  is  Ikestine — immensely  rich. 
There  is  a  saying  that  he  has  a  mortgage  on  every 
principality  in  England." 

"Satan  has  a  greater  one  on  him,"  declared  the 
269 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

man  who  had  nearly  fallen  over  the  feet  of  the 
Hebrew. 

Further  altercation  between  the  tongue  of  one 
man  and  the  eyes  of  another  was  interrupted  by 
the  announcement  of  the  auctioneer  that  the  sales 
were  about  to  commence.  Before  offering  any 
pictures,  however,  he  briefly  outlined  the  object 
and  purpose  of  the  annual  gatherings.  The  auc- 
tioneer highly  eulogized  the  collection  and  confi- 
dently hoped  the  talented  artists  would  be  repaid 
for  their  skill  and  labor  in  a  manner  commensurate 
with  their  many  merits  and  deserts. 

As  the  sales  proceeded  the  bidding  was  oft- 
times  spirited  as  the  several  bidders  took  a  fancy 
for  the  same  painting.  Great  lords  and  ladies 
were  discernible  among  the  miscellaneous  crowd. 
And  these  same  ladies  and  lords  were  indirect 
means  of  hundreds  of  people  being  present  who 
otherwise  would  have  wished  the  struggling  and 
indigent  artists  in  perdition. 

In  many  cases  the  artists  themselves  were  pres- 
ent. Seats  had  been  provided  in  the  more  cen- 
tral part  of  the  gallery,  and  resting  in  one  of 
the  chairs  was  a  fair-haired  man  of  equivocal  age. 
He  might  have  been  nineteen  or  thirty  years  of 
age,  as  far  as  anything  in  his  appearance  indi- 
cated. His  face  showed  the  marks  of  hard  study 
and  close  confinement.  He  was  lounging  in  a 
half-reclining  attitude,  evidently  in  deep  abstrac- 
270 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

tion.  Twice  only  his  reverie  was  broken;  once 
upon  hearing  the  Jew  speak  to  someone  in  charge, 
whereupon  that  functionary  marked  "TWENTY 
POUNDS  OFFERED,"  in  chalk  on  the  corner  of  a 
painting.  It  was  "Renaissance."  Thereupon  the 
Israelite  turned  and  smiled  seductively  upon  the 
man  of  equivocal  age. 

"I  thought  it  would  bring  forty  pounds,"  mused 
the  dreamer,  "by  the  way  the  others  are  selling." 

The  Jew  shook  his  head  and  the  artist  relapsed 
again  into  abstraction.  And  again  ke  was 
aroused  from  that  reverie.  A  well-dressed  woman 
was  standing  before  the  painting  that  had  taken 
months  of  labor  to  produce.  Her  lithe,  supple 
figure  was  motionless.  Her  graceful,  sinuous 
form  appealed  to  his  artist  sight  and  imagination. 
Her  deep  interest  in  "Renaissance,"  as  evidenced 
by  the  prolonged  observation,  was  the  first  femi- 
nine compliment  that  the  work  of  Michael  Lieb 
had  ever  received.  In  a  few  moments  more  the 
auctioneer  would  reach  the  place  where  she  was 
standing.  As  the  intervening  pictures  were  rap- 
idly offered  and  sold,  the  heart  of  the  artist  beat 
so  loudly  he  imagined  it  to  be  audible  to  the  thou- 
sands of  people  gathered  in  the  vast  hall.  He 
half-imagined  the  woman  a  fixture — some  creation 
in  Wax — that  had  been  silently  placed  in  position 
before  "Renaissance,"  when  she  was  joined  by  two 
other  women.  Whereupon  she  turned  a  face,  the 
271 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

most  beautiful,  spirituelle,  that  his  eyes  had  ever 
beheld. 

"How  much  am  I  offered  for  this?  Here  is  a 
work  of  real  art" — the  Jew  frowned — "the  artist 
has  christened  it  'Renaissance.'  "  The  good- 
natured  crowd  jostled  each  other  to  get  nearer. 

"Here,  who  is  the  artist?  What  is  that  name 
in  the  corner?"  asked  one. 

"Lieb,"  said  the  auctioneer. 

"Ah,  yes;  thank  you." 

"Lieb — Lieb!"  exclaimed  a  half-dozen  in 
chorus. 

"Who  ever  heard  of  an  artist  by  the  name  of 
Lieb?"  A  burst  of  laughter  greeted  this  merry 
speech. 

The  man  in  the  chair  shuddered.     It  was  the 

torture  of  vivisection  to  his  sensitive  soul. 

"There  is  some  merit  in  the  painting;  it  is  not 
altogether  amateurish,"  volunteered  one,  noticing 
for  the  first  time  the  offer  of  twenty  pounds  in  the 
corner. 

"Great  imagination." 

"Fairly  executed." 

"It's  all  right." 

"Deucedly  clever." 

The  woman  who  had  been  standing  before  the 
painting  retreated  a  few  paces  and  leaned  against 
a  column.  The  man  in  the  chair  was  in  a  state  of 
semi-consciousness;  the  coarse  comment,  coming 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

with  the  rapidity  of  the  report  of  firearms,  had 
'dazed,  bewildered  him. 

"Twenty  pounds  is  offered,"  cried  the  auc- 
tioneer. 

"Twenty-five,"  bid  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  gran- 
diloquently. 

"Six  und  dwenty,"  piped  the  Jew. 

Someone  in  the  assemblage  bid  thirty  pounds. 

"Thirty-one." 

"Thirty-two." 

"Three." 

"Four." 

"Five."  The  bids  were  rapid,  and  were  made 
by  persons  standing  promiscuously  among  the 
crowd. 

"Who  said  it  was  a  daub?"  laughed  a  by- 
stander. 

"Where  is  the  fellow  that  offered  twenty  pounds 
in  chalk?" 

"Left,"  some  wit  replied. 

"One  and  thirty-five,"  in  the  Hebrew  lan- 
guage. 

"Here  we  go  again,"  shouted  the  auctioneer. 

"Seven." 

"Eight." 

"Nine." 

"Fifty  pounds,"  said  the  Duke  of  Berwick. 
The  artist  began  to  indulge  in  visions  of  a  tailor- 
made  suit. 

273 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Five  thousand  pounds."  It  was  a  man's  voice, 
well  on  the  outskirts  of  that  vast  concourse. 

That  voice  galvanized  the  man  in  the  chair. 
The  previous  noise  subsided.  Even  the  craning 
of  necks  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  bidder  caused 
no  sound. 

"Ten  thousand."  The  bid  proceeded  from  the 
great  column  supporting  the  dome  of  the  amphi- 
theater. The  silence  became  more  intense;  the 
dropping  of  a  pin  would  have  sounded  like  a  Vul- 
can stroke. 

"Eleven  thousand,"  said  the  man  on  the  mar- 
gin of  the  crowd. 

The  artist  in  the  chair  became  livid,  rose,  reeled 
to  the  side  of  the  male  bidder. 

"Don't!" 

"Stand  aside,"  said  the  person  addressed,  impe- 
riously. 

"Twelve  thousand,"  quietly  from  the  vicinity 
of  the  column. 

The  command  was  unnecessary;  the  artist  fell 
at  full  length  upon  the  floor. 

"Thirteen "     The  bidder  stopped  suddenly, 

bent  over  the  prostrate  man  and  unbuttoned  his 
collar. 

"Stand  back,  please;  the  painter  has  fainted — 
stand  back." 

"Won  und  thirteen  thousand!     Fader  of  Abra- 
ham!    Won  und  thirteen  thousand  pounds." 
274 


The  Woman  Fanned  the  Face  of  the  Artist 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

A  woman  had  spread  her  handkerchief  under 
the  head  of  the  man  lying  on  the  floor. 

"Thirteen  thousand  and  one,  once,"  cried  the 
auctioneer. 

The  eyes  of  the  Jew  began  to  emit  flashes  of 
light  like  a  scintillating  coal. 

"Thirteen  thousand  and  one,  twice,"  shouted  the 
seller. 

Once  or  twice  the  hands  of  the  man  and  woman 
touched  in  attentions  to  the  artist. 

"Thirteen  thousand  and  one,  the  third  and  last 
time." 

The  woman  knelt  and  fanned  the  face  of  the 
insensible  man. 

"Fair  warning,"  cried  the  auctioneer. 

"Take  my  flask,"  said  Lord  Howe,  who  had 
finally  succeeded  in  reaching  his  friends. 

The  woman  raised  the  head  of  the  painter,  while 
the  man  forced  a  swallow  of  spirits  between  the 
set  teeth. 

"And  sold,"  cried  the  auctioneer. 

The  Jew  rubbed  his  hands,  after  the  fashion  of 
his  race  when  satisfied  of  a  bargain. 

The  heads  of  the  man  and  woman  were  so  close 
some  golden  filament  brushed  against  the  former's 
cheek. 

The  artist  opened  his  eyes. 

"Have    I    been    dreaming?     What    does    it    all 
mean?"  said  Lieb  in  a  dazed  way. 
275 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"It  means,"  said  Edward  Reynolds,  raising  the 
artist  to  his  feet,  "it  means  that  you  are  one  of 
the  foremost  living  painters  of  the  world." 

Reynolds  turned  to  thank  the  woman  staring 
at  him  with  great  wide-open  eyes.  Her  face  and 
throat  were  crimson;  the  man's  turned  livid,  then 
gray  as  the  face  of  a  corpse.  He  tried  to  speak — 
God  help  him! — but  could  not.  The  man,  who 
had  charmed  vast  audiences,  whose  eloquence 
had  electrified  the  scholars  of  England,  whose 
philanthropy  had  touched  the  very  centers, 
fumbled  at  speech — staggered  to  a  chair  and  sank 
upon  it.  Alice  Eldridge  took  a  step  forward — 
someone  glided  past  her. 

"Oh,  are  you  ill,  Mr.  Reynolds?"  It  was  a 
girlish  voice,  the  face  infinitely  sweet  and  beauti- 
ful. Lena  Rivers  stood  looking  into  the  white 
face  of  the  friend  of  all  humanity. 

"Are  you  satisfied?"  hissed  a  voice  in  Alice's 
ear,  while  the  fire  flashing  in  the  eyes  of  the  basil- 
isk is  not  more  venomous  than  that  burning  in 
those  of  Lord  Howe  as  she  encountered  his  gaze. 
Alice  made  no  response.  She  looked  at  his  dis- 
torted face,  then  her  glance  went  to  the  chair,  her 
eyes  once  more  became  riveted  upon  the  bloodless 
countenance  of  Edward  Reynolds,  when  they 
sought  the  face  of  the  girl.  It  was  a  picture  that 
was  photographed  upon  her  brain.  Silently  she 
took  her  place  by  the  side  of  the  column,  anc^ 
276 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

speaking  to  the  auctioneer,  her  white  lips  faltered, 

"Proceed  with  the  sale  of  'Renaissance'." 
"Why,  madam,  'Renaissance'  is  sold." 
"Sold!"  she  exclaimed.  Then  a  white  wraith 

glided  from  Exhibition  Hall. 

After  seven  years  Edward  Reynolds  and  Alice 

Eldridge  had  met,  had  gazed  into  each  other's 

eyes,  had  parted  without  speaking. 


277 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"My  carriage  is  at  the  door,"  said  Lord  Howe 
to  Edward  Reynolds.  "If  you  and  Mr.  Lieb  will 
accompany  Miss  Rivers  and  myself,  we  will  drive 
on  the  boulevard.  Afterwards  I  will  drop  you  at 
your  apartments." 

"It  is  close  here,"  replied  Reynolds;  "a  little 
fresh  oxygen  will  be  as  good  as  a  tonic.  What 
say  you,  Lieb?"  the  speaker's  eyes  wandering  to 
the  spot  where  a  moment  before  Alice  had  been 
standing- 

"Well,"  said  Lieb,  "I  have  no  desire  to  remain. 
I  am  not  used  to  being  ogled." 

A  few  moments  later,  as  the  party  were  driving 
along  at  a  lively  gait,  Lieb  suddenly  leaned  for- 
ward, his  gaze  fixed  intently  upon  a  couple  of  pe- 
destrians; then  he  touched  the  arm  of  Reynolds. 
"Look,  quick !  That  is  the  woman  that  bid  12,000 
pounds  for  'Renaissance,'  "  exclaimed  the  artist. 

"She?"  cried  Miss  Rivers.  "Why,  then,  she  is 
your  competitor,  Mr.  Reynolds,"  turning  to  that 
gentleman. 

Lord  Howe  raised  his  hat. 

"You  know  her?"  asked  Lieb. 

stYes,"  said  the  nobleman,  angered  at  the  un- 
I  278 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

1  usual  pallor  of  his  friend's  face ;  "she  is  the  widow 
of  an  American  lumberman." 

"She  is  the  only  child  of  Banker  Richards,  of 
Philadelphia,  a  multi-millionaire,"  corrected  Ed- 
ward Reynolds,  hurt  at  the  sneering  tone  of  the 
nobleman. 

"You!  acquainted  with  her,  also?"  inquired  Miss 
Rivers,  looking  steadily  at  the  man  by  her  side. 

"Who  is  the  gentleman?"  asked  the  artist. 

"The  Duke  of  Berwick,"  answered  the  noble- 
man. "English  hawks  are  fond  of  American 
sparrows,"  he  continued  cynically. 

It  is  needless  to  state  that  the  hour  passed  on 
the  boulevard  was  a  quiet  one,  so  far  as  conversa- 
tion was  concerned.  Each  passenger  in  the  car- 
riage was  intent  upon  thoughts  of  his  own. 

"I  believe,"  said  Reynolds  finally  to  the  noble- 
man, "I  will  be  driven  to  my  rooms.  I  have  much 
to  do  yet  to-day." 

"Why  don't  you  take  more  rest?"  asked  Miss 
Rivers.  "You  positively  look  ill  and  worn  out." 

"I  shall,"  replied  Reynolds,  alighting  from  the 
vehicle. 

"I  wish  I  looked  haggard  and  miserable," 
thought  the  artist,  "if  it  would  elicit  such  anxious 
expressions  from  the  young  lady."  The  two  gen- 
tlemen touched  their  hats  and  the  carriage  passed 
on  its  return  to  the  gallery,  Reynolds  and  the 
artist  soon  finding  themselves  alone  in  the  library. 
279 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Mr.  Reynolds,"  said  Lieb,  "I  expect  to  wake 
and  find  I  have  been  dreaming." 

"Ah,  well,  my  bo}',  it  will  be  a  pleasant  awak- 
ening. You  had  no'  idea  of  your  genius.  No 
wonder  the  extent  of  your  discovery  deprived  you 
momentarily  of  your  senses." 

"Ihis  day  has  been  one  of  revelation.  Why," 
he  exclaimed,  brightening  up,  "it  is  the  anniver- 
sary of  our  meeting  four  years  ago." 

"And  the  day  of  our  parting,"  said  Reynolds 
sadly. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  the  artist,  looking 
keenly  at  the  speaker. 

"Ah,  Lieb,"  said  Reynolds,  "how  little  you 
know  the  world!  With  the  change  in  your  for- 
tunes, don't  you  realize  that  London  will  be  fawn- 
ing at  your  feet?  Yesterday  you  were  obscure, 
to-morrow  you  will  be  a  celebrity.  In  less  than  an 
hour  a  dozen  reporters  will  have  located  you,  and 
you  will  be  quizzed  about  every  incident  of  your 
life.  To-morrow  the  press  will  picture  you  most 
flatteringly.  You  will  be  called  upon  and  feted. 
You  have  won  an  entree  into  the  homes  of  the 
most  exclusive  families  of  London."  The  young 
artist  was  watching  the  speaker  without  elation 
at  the  inviting  prospects. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Reynolds,  that  if  all 
is  true  you  have  said,  if  fortune  is  within  my 
grasp,  if  the  gates  to  fame  are  thrown  wide  open, 
280 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

if  society  should  dazzle;  more,  if  the  rarest  and 
best  gifts  of  life,  those  that  are  prized  most, 
should  come  to  me,  do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  am 
to  forget  the  friend  whose  steadfastness,  whose 
encouragement,  whose  strong  arm  has  supported 
me?  If  it  is  because  of  this  you  say  that  to-day 
is  the  day  of  our  parting,  as  true  as  there  is  a 
God  in  heaven,  you  make  me  regret  that  my  efforts 
have  been  crowned  with  success."  The  young 
man's  eyes  were  moist. 

"No,  not  that,  Lieb;  you  mistake  my  meaning. 
One  who  knows  you  as  intimately  as  I  do  never 
could  question  the  loyalty  of  your  friendship. 
But  a  new  life  has  opened  before  you.  Your  re- 
sponsibilities are  increased.  It  would  be  selfish- 
ness on  my  part,  imbecility  on  yours,  to  decline 
the  welcoming  hands  extended  to  you.  I  have 
trained  you  for  the  race.  I  have  walked  by  your 
side  to  the  starting  point.  I  have  held  the  signal 
of  the  start.  I  have  whispered  words  of  cheer, 
but  the  handkerchief  has  dropped,  the  race  is  on, 
the  trial  at  hand.  Do  not  think  that  I  shall  not 
see  you  as  you  struggle  on,  that  I  shall  not  mix 
in  the  crowd  at  the  finish  and  greet  your  victory 
with  a  heart  overflowing  at  your  triumph." 

"You  make  me  feel,"  said  Lieb,  "that  my  gains 
are  as  nothing  compared  with  my  loss." 

"Lieb,"  said  Reynolds,  "we  each  Tiave  our  work 
to  do.  We  must  face  those  duties  fearlessly. 
281 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Someone  has  said,  'To  live  content  with  small 
means,  to  seek  elegance  rather  than  luxury,  and 
refinement  rather  than  fashion;  to  be  worthy,  not 
respectable,  and  wealthy  not  rich;  to  study  hard, 
think  quietly,  talk  gently,  act  frankly;  to  listen 
to  stars  and  birds,  to  babes  and  sages  with  an  open 
heart;  to  bear  all  cheerfully,  do  all  bravely,  avail 
occasions,  hurry  never.  In  a  word,  to  let  the 
spiritual,  unbidden  and  unconscious,  grow  up 
through  the  common.'  This  is  the  manual  I  place 
in  your  hands.  No  safer  guide  ever  directed  the 
course  of  human  conduct.  Man  is  controlled  by 
circumstances.  He  is  plastic  as  wax  under  the 
manipulation  of  fate.  A  few  years  ago  I  sought 
occupation  for  distraction.  I  believed  I  could  re- 
main at  the  front  as  long  as  it  served  the  purpose 
and  then  quietly  abandon  the  self-imposed  labors. 
Therein  I  erred.  The  happiness  and  usefulness 
of  thousands  of  lives  depend  upon  me  at  this  mo- 
ment; one  departs,  two  arrive.  Instead  of  being 
young  shoots  engrafted  to  my  life,  I  am  the  soil 
in  which  the  roots  have  taken  start.  The  small 
people  under  my  charge  are  in  a  chrysalis  state, 
and  I  must  stay,  however  severe  the  strain,  until 
they  are  grown  sufficiently  strong  to  stand  alone. 
My  mode  of  life  has  become  a  fixed  part  of  me, 
more  than  habit;  yet,  to  say  nothing  has  been 
yielded  in  return,  to  say  that  I  am  not  rewarded 
would  be  untrue.  There  is  nothing  in  the  wide 
282 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

1  world  that  I  can  do,  giving  such  rich  returns,  as 
that  which  I  am  doing.  In  future  the  burdens 
must  be  heavier.  Every  moment  of  every  day 
of  the  weeks,  months  and  years  must  find  me  occu- 
pied or  my  thoughts  will  wander,  and  wandering 
thoughts  are  hell.  Oh!  Lieb,  for  the  forlorn, 
damned,  wretched  souls  for  which  idleness,  aye, 
be  the  door  ever  so  little  ajar,  admit  a  pack — a 
horde — of  demons  that  rend  and  tear  the  vitals, 
work  is  the  panacea.  Work,  in  fields  the  most  re- 
mote from  those  other  fields,  where  the  feet  strayed 
and  dallied  in  the  blissful  ignorance  of  happi- 
ness." The  speaker  had  risen  and  was  walking, 
talking  as  much  to  himself  as  to  his  companion. 

Lieb  regarded  Reynolds  in  amazement.  He 
had  never  beheld  the  American  while  similar  emo- 
tions were  surging  in  the  latter's  breast.  He  was 
in  awe,  and  awe  inspiring  pity  more  than  fear,  of 
the  man  who  had  befriended  him,  and  who,  like 
the  mother  bird,  now  that  his  feet  were  steady  and 
the  wings  strong  and  firm  to  bear  his  weight,  was 
turning  him  adrift  to  face  the  battles  of  life 
alone.  In  his  love  for  his  benefactor  he  was  jeal- 
ous of  each  little  ragamuffin  entitled  to  a  place  in 
the  man's  affections  and  benevolence.  There  were 
repeated  pulls  at  the  door-bell. 

"They  are  come,"  said  Reynolds. 

"Who?"  inquired  Lieb. 

"The  reporters  and  representatives  of  the  press. 
283 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

They  are  anxious  to  begin  the  work  where  mine 
ends."  The  voice  was  unnatural.  "See,  they  are 
impatient!  Hear  them  ring.  Ah,  that  was  a 
pull!  It  is  a  summons,  my  boy,  to  fame.  Thank 
God,  you  can  answer  it."  Lieb  moved  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  door.  "Wait,  Lieb;  don't  bring 
them  in  here.  Take  them  to  an  inn.  Another 
time  you  should  be  welcome;  but  I  shall  be  busy 
packing  the  balance  of  the  afternoon  and  evening, 
and  wish  to  be  as  much  by  myself  as  possible." 

"Some  gentlemen  at  the  door  want  to  know  if 
Mr.  Lieb  is  present,"  said  the  bell  boy,  projecting 
his  head  into  the  room. 

"Tell  them  that  he  is,"  said  Lieb,  "and  will  see 
them  directly.'*  After  the  boy  had  disappeared, 
the  artist  turned  to  Reynolds  and  inquired,  "You 
say  you  are  to  be  busy  packing?" 

"Yes." 

"Going  away?" 

"A  few  weeks.  I  haven't  had  a  vacation  in 
four  years.  Am  I  not  fairly  entitled  to  one?" 

"I  believe  so,"  said  Lieb.  "I  wish  I  were  going 
with  you." 

"Oh,  no.  You  must  not  run  away.  Wait  and 
meet  your  new  acquaintances.  But,  by  the  way, 
Lieb,  if  you  hear  any  one  inquiring  for  me  say 
that  I  have  just  dropped  out  of  sight  for  a  month 
or  two.  I  am  tired  to  death  and  am  going  to  vege- 
tate somewhere." 

284 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Shall  I  state  where  you  have  gone?" 

"No.  I  don't  know  myself,"  said  Reynolds. 
"But  I  shall  find  a  Mecca  where  woods,  fields  and 
rivers  are  on  the  map."  Here  another  reminder 
at  the  door-bell  suggested  to  the  two  men  that  the 
hour  of  parting  had  arrived,  and  taking  the  art- 
ist's hands  in  his  firmly,  Reynolds  said,  "Well,  be 
a  good  boy,  Lieb,  during  my  absence.  Don't 
let  your  newly  found  honors  turn  your  head  com- 
pletely. Keep  your  heart  in  the  right  place." 

"Have  no  fears,"  replied  Lieb  seriously.  He 
was  loath  to  part  with  his  benefactor. 

"Well,  good-bye,"  said  Reynolds. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Lieb,  with  a  lump  in  his 
throat.  "I  hope  you  will  find  the  rest  you  seek." 

The  next  moment  Lieb,  surrounded  by  a  half- 
score  of  reporters,  was  walking  in  the  direction  of 
a  nearby  hostelry,  Reynolds  following  the  party 
with  his  eyes  until  the  last  one  had  passed  from 
view. 

"A  bright  future  awaits  the  dear  boy,"  said  the 
watcher,  closing  the  blinds. 

The  next  morning  a  carriage  drove  up  before 
the  apartments  of  Edward  Reynolds,  and  Lord 
Howe,  accompanied  by  his  colleague  Rivers  and 
the  latter's  daughter,  alighted.  In  another  mo- 
ment the  door  was  opened  by  Lieb,  who  had  ar- 
rived earlier. 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  he,  "that  you  are  disap- 
285 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

pointed.  Reynolds  lias  flown,  bag  and  baggage. 
No  one  about  the  establishment  seems  to  know 
where  he  has  gone." 

Michael  Lieb  half  fancied  he  detected  a  look  of 
dismay  and  pain  in  the  face  of  Miss  Rivers. 

"I  have  coaxed  papa  to  let  me  sit  for  a  pic- 
ture," she  said  absently,  "and  intended  seeing  you 
during  the  day  to  arrange  for  the  sittings.  'First 
come,  first  served.'  You  will  be  overwhelmed 
with  engagements  directly." 

"Do  you  think  so  really  and  truly?  You  say 
this  to  make  me  happy,"  said  Lieb,  studying  her 
face  closely,  his  eyes  revealing  pleasure  at  the  ref- 
erence to  future  professional  success. 

"Well,  sir,  if  you  doubt  what  I  say,"  grievous- 
ly, "you  just  remember  that  no  less  a  personage 
than  Miss  Lena  Rivers  is  the  first  to  tell  you  that 
your  talents  will  be  in  present  demand;  and  also, 
sir,  bear  in  mind,  please,"  she  continued  solemnly, 
pointing  her  finger  sibyllinely  at  him,  "that  in 
consideration  of  this  meritorious  service  all  rights 
are  reserved  to  the  very  first  sitting." 

"I  am  not  apt  to  forget,"  said  Lieb,  bestowing 
an  unconscious  glance  so  full  oF  admiration  upon 
his  first  fair  patroness  that  the  profusion  of  blood 
in  the  lady's  cheeks  warned  him  of  his  indiscre- 
tion. 

"When  am  I  to  come?"  she  inquired. 

"I  intended  taking  a   month  to  get  my  bear- 
286 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ings,"  replied  Lieb.  "All  one's  calculations  are 
spoiled  by  success.  I  was  quite  happy  and  con- 
tent in  Ikestine's  attic.  But  the  material  altera- 
tions in  my  circumstances  and  prospective  appli- 
cations from  the  beau  monde  necessitate  the 
selection  of  a  different  studio." 

"Oh,  no;  let  me  come  where  'Renaissance'  was 
painted.  I  shall  like  to  be  painted  there.  Hon- 
est and  true,"  she  continued,  upon  beholding  the 
consternation  in  the  artist's  face,  "I  shall  en- 
joy it." 

"You  would  not  say  so  if  you  were  aware  how 
cramped  and  destitute  the  atelier  is.  Your  enthu- 
siasm would  turn  to  dismay." 

"All  the  merrier!"  cried  Lena.  "Your  words 
are  added  incense." 

"Well,  as  you  like,  if  you  don't  mind  desolation 
and  rats." 

"Oh !"  shuddered  Lena,  her  ecstasy  of  imagina- 
tion making  hasty  descent  to  those  realms  of  fem- 
inine aversion  for  rodents.  A  woman  will  face  an 
uncaged  lion  with  more  courageous  heroism  of 
mind  than  she  displays  upon  the  unexpected  ap- 
proach of  a  little  inoffensive  and  sinister-eyed 
mouse  with  a  body  no  bigger  than  could  be  com- 
fortably accommodated  in  her  thimble. 

"I  thought  rats  lived  in  cellars,"  said  Lena, 
"and  dark  tunnels,  and " 

"Rats,"  corrected  Lieb,  "live  everywhere.  They 
287 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

are  ubiquitous.  In  China  they  are  esteemed  a 
great  delicacy.  Rats  are  a  study.  They  are 
profound  philosophers.  Did  you  ever  notice  the 
similarity  between  the  eye  of  a  rat  and  the  eye  of 
a  Jew?" 

"The  eyes  of  a  rat  and  the  eyes  of  a  Jew," 
laughed  Lena,  "what  a  comparison !  Who  ever 
heard  the  like  before?" 

"Well,  Miss  Rivers,  if  you  had  seen  Ikestine 
offering  twenty  pounds  for  the  picture,  looking 
longingly  at  'Renaissance'  and  lovingly  at  me,  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  rat  waching  me  at  the  fru- 
gal meal  and  waiting  for  the  stray  crumbs,  on  the 
other,  you  would  admit  the  likeness." 

The  old  nobleman  failing  to  learn  any  tidings 
of  Edward  Reynolds,  after  making  diligent  in- 
quiries of  the  aged  housekeeper  and  the  several 
professors,  returned  with  his  colleague  and  joined 
the  young  people. 

"Hear  anything?"  asked  Lieb  of  his  lord- 
ship. 

"Not  a  word.  All  they  can  tell  me  is  that 
Hardsides  has  consented  to  preach  during  the  ab- 
sence of  Reynolds." 

"Papa,"  said  Lena,  "Mr.  Lieb  has  promised 
to  paint  my  portrait." 

"Let  him  paint  the  moles  and  warts  and  crow's- 
feet,"  replied  her  parent. 

"He'll  not  flatter  her,"  said  Lord  Howe. 
288 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"I  could  not  if  I  would,"  whispered  Lieb  in- 
audibly. 

"If  there  are  crow's  feet,"  declared  Lena,  "it  is 
because  you  have  been  so  cross  and  cruel  to  me." 

"Children  are  never  spoiled  by  crossings,"  in- 
sisted Rivers. 

"When  will  you  be  ready  to  commence?"  asked 
Lena  of  the  artist.  "You  can  charge  papa  any 
price  you  want." 

"When  will  you  be  ready  to  come?"  answering 
her  question  by  asking  one. 

"Any  time,  if  it  is  to-morrow,"  she  replied. 

Hereupon  Lieb  stated  that  as  soon  as  he  could 
get  established  in  suitable  quarters  he  would  no- 
tify her,  renewing  any  previous  promise  that  hers 
should  be  the  first  portrait  painting  he  would  un- 
dertake when  permanently  located,  whereupon  the 
two  old  gentlemen  and  Miss  Rivers  took  their  de- 
parture. 

"What  a  beautiful  girl  she  is,"  mused  Lieb  to 
himself,  as  he  watched  the  party  driving  away. 
"I  shall  advertise  for  a  studio  this  afternoon." 


289 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"Mrs.  Eldridge,"  said  the  Duke  of  Berwick, 
overtaking  Alice  as  she  was  leaving  the  gallery, 
"I  cannot  see  you  venturing  alone  upon  the  streets 
without  offering  to  accompany  you.  Will  you 
permit  me  to  walk  with  you?" 

"Indeed  I  am  grateful,"  replied  Alice. 

They  proceeded  in  silence.  Alice  was  preoccu- 
pied, so  was  the  duke.  He  had  seen  and  under- 
stood. How  those  two  beings  had  met,  when  and 
where,  he  knew  not.  But  he  felt  as  certain  as  that 
he  was  walking  by  the  side  of  the  woman  that 
there  was  a  past  between  them;  that  that  past 
brought  them  face  to  face  in  the  present;  while 
the  past,  present  and  future  were  shrouded  in  mys- 
tery. It  was  all  confused  and  nebulous.  Her 
face  was  pale  with  mental  suffering.  His  heart 
was  filled  with  a  great  pity.  He  longed  to  take 
her  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her.  The  Duke  of 
Berwick  loved  and  reverenced  Alice  Eldridge. 
A  carriage  drawn  by  a  spirited  span  of  blacks 
dashed  by.  Armorial  bearings  flashed  in  the  sun- 
light on  the  gilded  woodwork.  It  was  Lord  Howe 
and  his  party  leaving  the  auction  sale.  By  chance 
the  two  pedestrians  encountered  the  gaze  of  the 
290 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

occupants  of  the  vehicle.  The  Duke  of  Berwick 
felt  the  woman  give  an  involuntary  shudder.  She 
seemed  to  drag  her  feet  over  the  pavement,  totter- 
ing like  a  person  intoxicated. 

"Are  you  ill?"  he  inquired. 

"No,"  she  replied ;  but  her  face  was  colorless. 

"Mrs.  Eldridge,"  he  said,  summoning  a  cab,  "it 
is  some  distance  yet.  I  believe  it  will  be  pleas- 
anter  riding."  She  suffered  him  to  assist  her  to 
mount  the  step.  The  duke  gave  directions  to  the 
driver  and  sprang  in  after  her,  closing  the  door. 
Alice  was  shivering  as  with  a  chill.  The  duke 
spread  a  robe  over  her  lap  and  sat  down  in  the 
opposite  corner  of  the  seat.  He  did  not  speak  to 
her.  Alice  was  grateful  for  the  consideration. 
Finally  the  cab  stopped  at  its  destination.  The 
Duke  of  Berwick  helped  the  Iady)lto4alight,  opened 
the  wicker  gate  for  her  to  pass,  lifting  his  hat  as 
she  did  so.  Alice  had  taken  several  steps  when, 
with  a  sudden  impulse,  she  paused.  The 
duke  was  standing  in  the  same  position  at  the 
gate  as  when  she  entered  it.  She  came  back  to 
him. 

"Duke  of  Berwick,"  she  said,  "you  have  been 
good  to  me.  I  thank  you  very,  very  much.  I 
should  invite  you  in,  but  I  am  not  well." 

The  duke  bowed  without  speaking,  turned  sud- 
denly and  walked  away. 

"I  wish  the  Duke  of  Berwick  were  my  brother," 
291 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

said  Alice  to  herself  as  she  entered  the  house,  while 
the  duke  muttered  as  he  retraced  his  steps,  "I 

wonder  what  power  that  man  has  over  her,  if 

he  stopped,  "if "  and  the  thought  in  his  mind, 

whatever  it  was,  was  checked  again.  "Fudge!  I 
would  kill  him  with  as  little  compunction  as  I 
would  take  the  life  of  a  rat." 

Alice  Eldridge,  it  is  true,  was  the  first  to  tell 
the  Duke  of  Berwick  his  faults,  stripped  of  all 
artificial  embellishment;  yet  it  was  also  true  she 
was  the  first  woman  whom  he  had  ever  met  that 
treated  him  as  a  man,  as  an  equal.  She  had  dis- 
covered to  him  a  knowledge  of  himself. 

Many  natures  require  rough  usage  to  bring  the 
nobler  parts  to  the  surface.  Diamonds  are  mined 
with  picks  and  shovels. 

Upon  entering  the  house,  Alice  sat  down  upon  a 
settee  listlessly,  without  removing  her  wraps.  She 
was  dazed  and  bewildered  and — cold.  She  held 
out  her  arms  toward  the  fireless  grate,  rubbing  her 
hands.  There  was  not  a  piece  of  furniture  in 
the  room  she  recognized.  She  arose  and  began 
to  pace  the  floor  aimlessly. 

"Lord  Howe  warned  me  if  I  valued  my  peace  of 
mind  never  to  look  upon  the  face  of  Edward 
Reynolds  again.  It  was  base  deception!  Ed- 
ward loves  me!"  she  exclaimed  passionately,  the 
rich  blood  coursing  through  her  veins  like  ichor. 
"He  loves  me — I  know  it — I  feel  it.  Those  eyes 
292 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

looked  it;  those  mute  lips  proclaimed  it;  and  I — 
Oh,  God,  I  love  him!  After  all  these  years  I 
confess  it.  I  love  him — love  him — a  million,  bil- 
lion times  better  than  in  those  olden  days.  Then 
human  beings  and  gods  were  all  alike.  I  have 
learned  wisdom  with  years.  I  should  have  gone 
to  him,  but — ah,  who  is  that  woman?  She  loves 
him  also.  It  was  revealed  in  her  face  as  she  dart- 
ed past  me — such  impudence! — to  his  side.  She 
is  trying  to  snatch  him  from  me  now  that  I  have 
found  him.  What  right  has  she  to  hasten  to  his 
side — to  inquire  his  health?  I  loved  him  first. 
Shall  she  have  precedence  over  me?  She  was  sit- 
ting by  his  side  in  the  carriage,  too.  Mine  is  the 
prior  claim.  Why,  if  he  is  ill,  I  will  nurse  him, 
not  she ;  if  he  is  well,  I  will  love  him  so  much  that 
he  shall  be  ill,  in  order  that  I  may  make  him  well 
again.  Good  God,  how  my  heart  is  beating! 
Stop  this  clamor,"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her 
hands  over  her  bosom,  "while  I  think.  No,  no,  I 
must  not  think.  Thought  shrivels  up  my  brain, 
while  something  rises  in  my  throat  and  chokes  me. 
Mad  men  think — even  in  their  sleep,  'tis  said,  and 

chatter,  chatter,  chat " 

Alice  Eldridge  was  standing  in  front  of  a  large 
mirror.  With  the  first  glance  at  the  picture  re- 
flected back,  she  ceased  speaking.  Once  a  painter 
went  mad.  His  friends  did  everything  to  remove 
the  blight  from  the  unfortunate  man's  mind,  but 
293 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

to  no  purpose.  One  day  the  artist  escaped  his 
guard  and  took  shelter  in  an  adjacent  wood,  where 
suffering  with  thirst,  he  knelt  by  a  pool  to  drink, 
and  his  reason  was  restored  upon  seeing  his  image 
reflected.  Alice  Eldridge  no  sooner  recognized 
the  face  in  the  mirror  than  she  was  Alice  Eldridge 
again.  No  one  knew  better  than  she  the  utter 
hopelessness  of  her  love.  She  knew  that  Edward 
Reynolds  was  a  proud  man;  that  his  pride  would 
never  consent  that  he  should  ask  any  woman 
to  be  his  wife  that  had  once  broken  an  engage- 
ment with  him  to  marry  another.  She  knew  all 
too  well  that  if  she  could  go  to  him,  and  if  she 
could  lay  her  heart  bare  at  his  feet,  he  would  draw 
the  robes  of  offended  pride  about  him  and  say  to 
her,  "You  told  me  once  that  your  happiness  de- 
manded this  sacrifice  of  me.  I  have  made  it.  I 
have  suffered.  I  love  you  as  I  did  then,  but  I 
will  never  take  to  my  breast  a  woman  and  fancy 
the  arms  of  another  around  her." 

The  white  face  in  the  mirror  fascinated  the 
gazer.  It  was  the  reflex  of  the  immensity  of  the 
devastation  within.  Never  before  had  her  life 
been  deluged  by  the  same  remorseless  floods  that 
were  sweeping  over  it.  She  had  contented  herself 
with  the  sweet,  intoxicating  possibility  of  the  dis- 
tant but  certain  fruition  of  her  secret  love.  She 
had  taken  it  for  granted  that  her  affections  were 
placed  at  compound  interest,  and  that,  by  and  by, 
294 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 

she  should  enjoy  the  principal  increased  by  usury; 
•  but  as  she  stared  at  the  white  face  in  the  glass 
Alice  Eldridge  saw  the  woman  whose  investment 
of  the  affections  had  been  swept  away  instead  of 
augmented,  leaving  a  white,  pitiful  bankrupt. 
Hers  was  the  leprosy  of  the  heart.  But  a  little 
while  ago  she  had  felt  his  breath  upon  her  cheek; 
the  escaping  tresses  of  her  hair  had  touched  his 
face  as  he  and  she,  unknown  to  each  other,  were 
bending  over  the  artist.  Even  at  the  remem- 
brance her  white  face  grew  whiter.  The  sum  of 
her  loss  was  total,  crushing,  absolute,  irreparable. 
Love!  The  divine  mystery  of  the  heart!  Love! 
before  whose  vestal  robes  peasant  and  prince,  sub- 
ject and  sovereign,  tremble  and  turn  pale.  Love! 
of  all  the  passions,  hate,  avarice,  and  ambition, 
the  most  terrible — omnipotent,  supreme!  the  at- 
tribute of  God  in  the  human  breast.  The  man 
or  woman  whose  nature  has  not  been  subdued  by 
the  noblest  coronation  of  the  heart  lacks  proof  of 
divine  origin.  Alice  neither  heard  the  countess 
as  the  latter  entered  the  room  nor  as  she  came 
toward  her.  She  was  absorbed,  intent  upon 
watching  that  other  self  in  the  glass. 

"Alice,  are  you  ill?"  said  Countess  Ratcliff. 

The  great  wide  eyes  traveled  from  the  mirror 
to  the  face  of  the  speaker. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  continued  the 
countess,  throwing  an  arm  around  the  waist  of 
295 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

her   friend.     She  was    frightened  by   the   vacant 
stare,  by  the  colorless  face. 

"I  don't  know — nothing,"  murmured  Alice. 
She  was  trembling  in  every  limb.  It  was  the 
tremor  of  the  soul  at  the  last  sad  obsequies  of  the 
heart. 


296 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

Some  ten  miles  from  the  city  of  Sion,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Rhone,  stands  a  solitary  house,  erect- 
ed on  a  slight  promontory  that  affords  to  the  eye 
in  any  direction  a  pleasing  panorama.  Broad 
acres  of  arable  land  were  in  a  state  of  excellent 
cultivation,  while  herds  of  the  best  blooded  cattle 
grazed  in  the  distance.  The  majestic  sweep  of 
the  river  winding  sinuously  away  resembles  a  mon- 
strous serpent  stretched  in  the  valley  below,  while 
still  farther  off  the  spires  and  steeples  of  the  dis- 
tant city  look  like  the  tombs  of  a  place  of  sep- 
ulture. The  vegetation  resembles  a  vast  bank 
of  green,  restful  alike  to  both  eye  and  mind, 
while  the  eternal  snow-clad  peaks  of  the  distant 
glaciers  reflect  a  million  prismatic  rays  as  the  sun 
of  a  perfect  day  shines  upon  them. 

Switzerland,  the  Land  of  Contradictions !  The 
warmth  of  the  valleys,  the  frigid  blasts  of  the 
mountains,  the  majestic  rivers,  all  in  a  sense  con- 
tiguous; the  natural  defense  of  France,  Germany, 
Austria,  and  Italy.  It  is  not  strange  the  spirit  of 
freedom  displayed  by  its  inhabitants  should  par- 
take of  the  bold  nature  of  the  rugged  environ- 
ments. 

297 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Edward  Reynolds  had  found  his  Arcadia,  the 
place  where  he  should  rest — the  spot  of  all  spots 
where  he  should  forget.  To  him  it  was  the  most 
delightful  retreat  on  earth.  The  salubrious  at- 
mosphere, the  mild  and  equable  temperature,  the 
wonderful  development  of  vegetation,  the  excel- 
lent condition  of  mountainous  roads,  the  smaller 
streams  splashing  into  the  Rhone  in  turbulent  cas- 
cades, the  sky-tipped  mountains,  bordered  half- 
way up  their  perpendicular  sides  by  virent  fringe, 
crowned  with  Alpine  snow,  suited  and  soothed  the 
fancy.  In  his  imagination  the  warm  breeze  of 
the  valley,  so  pregnant  with  life,  health  and 
enjoyment,  was  a  foundling  sheltered  in  the 
immaculate  arms  of  those  eternal  uplifting 
peaks. 

He  was  in  search  of  just  such  a  hiding-place, 
and,  dismounting  his  horse,  approached  the  half- 
hidden  house  to  secure  accommodations.  The 
people  did  not  speak  English,  and,  upon  making 
his  wishes  known  to  them  by  pantomime,  were  op- 
posed to  the  idea  of  entertaining  strangers,  as  evi- 
dent from  the  earnest  consultation  engaged  in 
among  themselves.  There  were  vigorous  shakes 
of  the  head,  which  were  only  overcome  by  the  per- 
sistent wayfarer  by  inducements  of  a  financial 
character  not  to  be  despised  by  well-to-do  farmers, 
even  in  Switzerland.  At  the  conclusion  of  negoti- 
ations he  was  assigned  a  large,  pleasant  room 
298 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

to  be  kept  in  order  during  such  period  as  his  lib- 
eral payment  continued. 

Alone  at  last,  without  fear  of  discovery;  hid- 
den, as  it  were,  from  the  great  teeming,  throb- 
bing centers  of  population,  he  could  finish  his  book 
and  forget,  and  the  horrible  pain  in  his  head 

should  cease. 

*•#***-#*- 

"Papa,"  cried  Alice,  as  her  father  entered  the 
room,  "mamma,  Eleanore  and  myself  have  been 
discussing  ways  and  means  for  an  overland  trip 
into  Italy  by  the  Great  St.  Bernard  Pass."  They 
had  been  a  week  at  Sion. 

"The  fact  is,  everything  has  been  arranged  sat- 
isfactorily but  obtaining  Mr.  Richards'  consent," 
declared  Eleanore.  "You,  it  seems,  were  smoking 
at  the  time  of  the  conference." 

"Oh!  What  contented  wretches!  Verily,  you 
have  designs  upon  our  lives.  We  shall  be  jolted 
to  death,"  exclaimed  the  banker  deprecatingly. 

"The  roads  were  never  finer.  We  have  made 
inquiries.  What  a  pity  to  pass  such  perfect 
weather  cooped  up  in  detestable  railway  coaches," 
said  Alice. 

"It  might  be  pleasant  driving  by  easy  stages 
over  mountain  roads,"  admitted  Mrs.  Richards. 

"Now,  candid,  what  is  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Rich- 
ards?" queried  the  countess,  turning  to  that  gen- 
tleman. 

299 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Outnumbered,  as  usual.  I  may  as  well  sub- 
mit patiently,"  said  he,  by  no  means  averse  to  the 
arrangement. 

*'The  trip  will  have  the  advantage  of  novelty," 
interposed  Alice. 

"I  say,  grandpa,  do  be  coaxed,"  essayed 
Madge,  joining  her  grandfather's  adversaries,  in 
the  meantime  dove-tailing  the  fingers  of  his  hands 
together. 

"Persuasion  and  subjugation  are  identical.  Of 
course  I  acquiesce." 

"Papa,  you  are  perfectly  charming,"  cried 
Alice. 

"When  yielding  to  your  sway,"  assented  the 
banker. 

"Well,  I  most  always  have  my  way,  don't  I, 
dear  papa? — that  is,  when  you  are  willing." 

"Conceded,"  admitted  the  banker,  "if  you  allow 
by  implication  that  I  am  always  charming." 

"I  would  be  an  undutiful  child  otherwise," 
laughed  Alice  graciously. 

"Insist  upon  a  direct  answer,"  suggested  the 
countess. 

"I  have  burned  my  fingers  too  often  in  her  red 
hair,"  replied  the  banker  sapiently,  "not  to  have 
learned  discretion." 

"Mamma,  what  was  the  color  of  papa's  hair 
originally?  Since  I  have  been  old  enough  to  be 
interested  in  such  matters  I  have  never  been  able 
300 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

'to  tell,  by  the  remainder,  the  shade  of  tne  de- 
parted." 

A  bare  spot  the  size  of  a  silver  dollar  on  the 
banker's  crown  was  a  subject  upon  which  he  was 
known  to  be  sensitive. 

"Nearly  the  same  as  yours,  irreverent  child," 
replied  that  lady. 

"Much  as  I  abominate  baldness,  I  have  never 
used  hair  tonics  to  restore  the  growth,"  implying 
that  he  was  reconciled  to  the  loss  by  the  objection- 
able color. 

"When  shall  we  start?"  asked  Mrs.  Richards, 
interrupting  the  tilt. 

"Order  up  the  carriage,  papa,"  directed  Alice 
serenely. 

"Everybody  be  in  readiness  in  the  morning," 
said  the  banker.  "I  shall  have  to  express  the  lug- 
gage, except  such  as  we  need  for  our  journey. 
It  is  a  fine  pack  of  gypsies  we'll  be.  Eleanore, 
you  must  be  the  fortune-teller,  and  Alice  collect 
the  bills.  She  is  a  capital  hand  in  worming  money 
out  of  people." 

Traveling  by  private  conveyance  in  Switzerland 
is  a  luxury.  Travelers  find  no  monotony  of 
scenery.  Driving  in  any  direction,  one  enjoys  a 
grand  panorama  from  start  to  finish,  especially  in 
the  watersheds  of  the  noble  rivers,  the  Rhone,  Po, 
and  Rhine.  Tourists,  artists,  poets,  and  scholars 
imbibe  the  beautiful  and  picturesque  of  Nature's 
301 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

handicraft  here  as  nowhere  else.  Switzerland  is 
the  poet  laureate  of  the  universe. 

As  the  tourists,  upon  the  following  day,  were 
being  driven  over  the  splendid  roads,  enjoying  to 
the  full  the  glories  of  the  ever-changing  land- 
scape, Alice  remarked:  "We  are  indebted  to 
Eleanore  for  this  pleasure,"  joining  the  gaze  of 
the  others  upon  the  distant  glaciers. 

"To  appreciate  this  sublime  scenery,  one  needs 
see  it,"  said  Mrs.  Richards. 

"Nature's   kaleidoscope,"    asserted   the   banker. 

"Does  one  tire  of  such  picturesqueness,  or  is  it 
always  vivid  and  fresh?"  queried  the  countess. 

"Mamma,  why  is  there  no  floods  from  the  melt- 
ing ice  and  snow?"  asked  Madge,  to  whose  young 
mind  those  elevated  peaks  were  a  constant  and 
perpetual  menace  to  the  valleys  below. 

"The  snow  and  ice,  my  child,  at  that  height, 
do  not  thaw." 

"But  it  looks  so  warm  and  pleasant  up  there," 
insisted  the  child. 

"People  that  go  up  in  balloons  have  their  hands 
and  feet  frozen,"  explained  the  banker. 

"Is  the  sky  so  cold?"  quizzed  the  girl  incredu- 
lously. 

"Look  at  that  cloud !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Richards. 
But  the  eyes  of  all  were  resting  upon  the  perpen- 
dicular pyramids  of  feathery  vapor,  parallel  col- 
umns of  undulating,  downy  whiteness,  rising  from 
302 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

l 

beyond  the  crest  of  mountains  in  the  azure  sky. 

"We  are  to  be  waylaid  by  a  storm,"  predicted 
the  banker.  "Perhaps  the  curtains  had  better  be 
drawn." 

"Not  yet,  papa,"  pleaded  Alice,  who  was  lost  in 
enraptured  contemplation. 

"In  times  of  peace  prepare  for  war,"  continued 
her  father. 

"What  rivalry  between  the  snow-clad  peaks  and 
the  billowy  banks  of  mist,"  remarked  the  countess. 

"Not  so,"  said  Alice.  "One  is  obedient  to  the 
slightest  variation  of  the  wind,"  pointing  out  the 
inaccuracy  of  the  comparison.  "I  am  partial  to 
the  ponderous  immobility  of  the  perpetual  snow 
and  ice." 

"That  young  artist  Lieb  would  make  his  for- 
tune here,"  declared  the  banker. 

"Where  are  the  white  wings  now?"  asked  Mrs. 
Richards.  The  banks  of  snowy  clouds  had  been 
succeeded  by  a  sable  slate-colored  base. 

"They  have  enveloped  the  glaciers  also,"  re- 
torted the  countess. 

"Not  so,"  said  Alice,  "merely  separated  us  from 
the  banks  of  snow.  The  sun  still  shines  upon 
those  immutable,  obdurate  crests." 

"Touch  up  the  horses  a  bit,"  the  driver  was  di- 
rected by  Mr.  Richards,  "and  if  you  find  a  stop- 
ping-place, we  had  better  take  refuge  until  the 
storm  passes." 

303 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Near  the  point  where  the  road  breaks  over  the 
hill,"  the  driver  informed  his  passengers,  "there  is 
a  place  where  we  can  stop." 

"How  far  may  it  be?"  inquired  the  banker. 

"A  mile  or  such  matter,"  explained  that  func- 
tionary. 

The  carriage  rolled  up  to  the  door  none  too 
soon.  In  response  to  an  inquiry  whether  or  no 
the  party  could  remain  until  after  the  storm  had 
spent  its  fury,  the  old  lady  to  whom  the  question 
had  been  put  hastened  away,  to  return  a  moment 
later,  accompanied  by  a  middle-aged  woman  who 
spoke  English. 

"What  do  you  desire?"  she  asked  kindly. 

"To  remain  until  after  the  storm  passes,  as  well 
as  to  have  the  horses  and  carriage  taken  under 
cover." 

The  nature  of  the  visit  was  communicated  to 
the  proprietor,  who  at  that  moment  arrived.  The 
rugged  features  of  the  old  husbandman  denoted 
German  origin.  He  looked  at  the  threatening 
sky,  and  nodded  affirmatively,  whereupon  the  in- 
terpreter informed  the  tourists  that  they  were 
indebted  to  one  Mr.  Bonner,  an  extensive  land- 
owner, for  hospitality. 

"Mr.  Bonner,"  the  woman  explained,  "is  a  man 

of   influence   in  the  Canton.     Besides   holding   a 

number  of  petty  offices,  he  represents  the  Canton 

in  the  legislative  department  of  the  Swiss  govern- 

304 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

'ment.     My  position,"  she  added,  "in  the  house- 
hold is  that  of  nurse  to  a  sick  gentleman." 

The  new  guests  were  conducted  into  a  commo- 
dious reception-room,  modern  in  its  appointments, 
where  they  were  invited  to  make  themselves  as 
comfortable  as  possible.  Outside  the  storm  still 
raged,  and  the  prospects  of  renewing  the  journey 
that  day  greatly  diminished.  As  the  noon  hour 
approached,  the  tourists  were  asked  to  partake  of 
the  mid-day  meal.  And  such  a  dinner!  It  was  a 
typical  farmer's  repast.  Fried  chicken  and  duck, 
scalloped  eggs  and  innumerable  vegetables,  placed 
upon  the  table  in  large  platters,  were  all  that  an 
epicure  could  desire,  while  the  dessert  of  raspberry 
pie,  cake,  coffee  and  cream  caused  the  smallest 
member  of  the  refugees  to  look  with  complaisance 
upon  the  storm  that  drove  them  to  an  establish- 
ment so  well  provisioned. 

"Let's  hang  up  a  week  with  the  legislator," 
said  the  banker. 

"We  shall  seek  in  vain  for  a  more  ideal  spot," 
said  Eleanore. 

"This  is  paradisaical,"  declared  Mrs.  Richards, 
with  emphasis. 

"I  was  on  the  verge  of  making  the  same  propo- 
sition," said  Alice,  "when  papa  anticipated  me." 

"  'Great  minds  run  in  the  same  channels,' ' 
he  laughed. 

"But  we  have  to  reckon  with  the  host,"  inti- 
305 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

mated  the  practical  Mrs.  Richards,  "and,  if  I  mis- 
take not,  he  is  obstinate." 

"I  offer  the  following:  Resolved,  that  the 
Hon.  Horatio  S.  Richards,  of  Philadelphia,  of  the 
United  States  of  America,  be  appointed  Ambassa- 
dor Plenipotentiary  to  negotiate  with  his  royal 
highness,  Landowner  Bonner,  in  arranging  and 
concluding  terms  and  stipulations  in  securing  ac- 
commodations for  a  stay  of  one  week  at  the  latter's 
mountain  home  in  Switzerland.  All  in  favor  of 
the  motion  make  it  manifest  by  the  usual  sign," 
cried  Alice. 

"Aye,  aye,"  ejaculated  the  ladies  in  chorus. 

"Contrary,  the  same." 

"There  being  no  dissenting  vote  you  are  unan- 
imously accredited  with  plenary  powers  of  the 
commission,"  said  Alice,  saluting  her  father  re- 
spectfully. 

"Well,  I  didn't  know  that  you  were  such  an 
accomplished  parliamentarian,"  said  the  banker. 
"But  I  now  notify  you,"  he  continued,  "that  I  will 
arrange  for  the  balance  of  the  warm  season,  pro- 
viding the  provision  holds  out." 

"Where  is  the  woman  that  speaks  English?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Richards.  We  may  as  well  learn 
our  fate  first  as  last." 

"Grandpa,"  exclaimed  Madge,  bursting  into 
the  assembly,  "come  and  see  the  chickens  and  gos- 
lings and  baby  ducks." 

306 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Here,  stay  in  out  of  the  wet.  You  are  no 
waterfowl.  Do  you  want  influenza?" 

"Oh!  the  nice  old  gentleman  carries  me,  and  I 
hold  the  umbrella,  and  he  talks  just  like  the  geese 
and  the  ducks,"  explained  the  girl. 

"Guess  I'll  go  outside  and  get  acquainted," 
commented  the  banker. 

"Remember,  papa,  what  depends  upon  first  im- 
pressions." 

"You  watch  from  the  window  and  see  how  I  can 
rise  diplomatically  when  occasion  demands,"  sug- 
gested her  father;  "women,  alone,  stoop  to  con- 
quer." 

"Wait  a  moment  and  I'll  go  with  you,"  and 
Alice  dived  down  into  a  grip,  fishing  out  a  gossa- 
mer. 

Mr.  Bonner  was  joined  by  his  late  companion, 
reinforced  by  the  child's  grandparent  and  mother, 
the  proprietor  being  by  no  means  displeased  be- 
cause of  the  increased  number.  He  was  proud  of 
his  ancient  and  imposing  home;  his  immense,  well- 
watered  lands  and  finely  bred  herds  grazing  there- 
on. No  one,  showing  keen  appreciation  of  these 
material  evidences  of  his  prosperity,  failed  to  in- 
state himself  in  the  good  opinion  of  the  law-maker. 
He  entertained  annually  a  number  of  legislative 
colleagues,  a  love  of  good-fellowship  being  one  of 
his  strong  points,  or  one  of  his  weak  ones,  as  the 
reader  prefers. 

307 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Scarcely  had  the  trio  reached  the  side  of  the  old 
landowner,  when  the  nurse  made  her  appearance. 
These  two  exchanged  a  few  words  in  a  strange 
dialect,  whereupon  the  lady  was  moving  away, 
when  Mr.  Richards  addressed  her. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "will  you  kindly  act  as  in- 
terpreter a  moment  between  this  gentleman  and 
myself?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  she  replied  cheerfully. 

"We  desire  to  remain  here  a  few  days,  and,  pro- 
viding you  will  intercede  in  our  behalf,  you  shall 
lose  nothing  by  the  transaction,"  promised  the 
banker.  "Tell  the  proprietor  that  we  are  very 
favorably  impressed  with  his  pleasant  home,  and 
the  delightful  scenery  hereabouts,  and  desire  noth- 
ing better  than  permission  to  remain  his  guests 
a  week  or  ten  days  at  the  outside.  We  are  will- 
ing to  pay  any  price  he  may  be  pleased  to  impose 
for  accommodations,  in  advance  or  otherwise." 

The  lady  repeated  the  wishes  to  Mr.  Bonner, 
who  was  somewhat  perplexed  by  the  proposition. 
He  favored  his  would-be  guests  with  a  swift 
but  comprehensive  inspection.  Evidently  he  was 
satisfied  with  the  observation,  but  it  was  going 
to  be  troublesome  to  have  foreigners  about  a 
week  or  longer.  Again,  there  was  one  sick  man 
in  the  house  already,  by  reason  of  his  willing- 
ness to  oblige.  He  told  the  interpreter  that  he 
would  leave  the  matter  with  Mrs.  Bonner  and 
308 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

advise  them  later.  So  the  matter  was  hung  up 
on  the  decision  of  the  mistress  of  the  establish- 
ment. The  nurse,  excusing  herself,  returned 
indoors,  not  omitting,  however,  to  mention  the 
nature  of  the  application  to  Mrs.  Bonner,  seeing 
fit  to  volunteer  on  her  own  behalf  that  "they  were 
nice  refined  people." 

A  moment  after  the  mediator  entered  the  build- 
ing, a  lad  was  seen  galloping  off  in  direction  of 
Sion.  The  banker  produced  his  cigar  case  and 
handed  it  in-a-hope-to-be-better-acquainted  man- 
ner to  the  legislator.  The  latter  took  one,  lighted 
it — enjoyed  it.  That  cigar  went  a  great  way  in 
making  the  chances  of  the  petitioners  "preferred 
stock."  After  considerable  hesitation,  it  was  decid- 
ed by  the  good  man  and  his  estimable  lady  that  the 
refugees  might  remain ;  and  the  tourists,  after  the 
trying  suspense,  were  acquainted  with  the  result 
of  deliberations  and  shown  their  respective  rooms, 
which  the  happy  travelers  proceeded  to  set  in 
order,  or  rather  disorder,  by  unpacking  such 
limited  dressing  apparel  as  they  had  provided  for 
the  journey. 

"Alice,"  called  Eleanore  to  Mrs.  Eldridge,  who 
had  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  on  some  errand 
to  the  sitting  room,  "tell  Madge  to  come  up." 

"Yes,"  Alice  answered  back. 

"Did  you  hear?     Tell  Madge  to  come  up;  I 
have  something  for  her." 
309 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"I  hear,"  replied  Alice  up  the  stairway.  As 
Alice  faced  about,  she  confronted  the  nurse.  The 
eyes  of  that  lady  were  fastened  intently  upon 
her. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Alice,  "you  startled  me." 

"Alice,"  repeated  the  nurse,  slowly,  "is  your 
name  Alice?" 

"What  did  you  say?"  called  Eleanore,  who  was 
busy  in  her  room  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  sup- 
posing herself  addressed. 

"Nothing,"  called  Alice.  "What  do  you  wish?" 
she  inquired,  turning  to  the  nurse. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  heard  the  lady  above 
address  you  as  'Alice,'  forgetting  that  there  are 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  Alices,  and  spoke  with- 
out thinking.  The  sick  man,"  she  continued 
apologetically,  "talks  of  Alice  and  Lieb  and — 
good  God!  Are  you  dying?"  cried  the  nurse  in- 
stinctively supporting  the  woman,  who  had 
clutched  the  banister. 

"Hush!"  whispered  Alice.  "Conduct  me  to 
him.  Take  me  where  I  can  see — myself  unseen. 
See !"  she  continued  impatiently,  "I  am  well,"  sud- 
denly throwing  the  nurse's  arm  from  her,  and 
standing  firm  and  erect. 

"Follow  me.  You  may  go  to  his  bed  with  me," 
explained  the  nurse,  "he  knows  no  one." 

Alice  followed  her  guide  through  the  long  cor- 
ridor, the  sound  of  their  steps  muffled  in  the  heavy 
310 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

carpet,  finally  entering  a  large  bed-chamber.  The 
invalid's  face  was  turned  toward  the  wall. 

"I  say,  Lieb,  there  is  nothing  helps  a  man  for- 
get women  as  well  as  woman,"  muttered  the  in- 
valid. 

"That  is  the  way  he  talks  all  the  time,"  whis- 
pered the  nurse. 

"Heavens!  What's  got  into  the  boys?  They'll 
tear  the  building  down  over  my  very  head,  unless 
they  are  stopped.  Here,  you  young  pande- 
monium, let  up  on  that — I'm  coming,  can't  you 
wait  a  moment — I'm  coming,  I  say.  They  are  all 
deaf;  or  the  boys  make  such  noise  no  one  can 
hear.  Well,  I'll  have  less  confusion,"  trying  to 
rise. 

"Edward,  lie  back — so — upon  the  pillow." 
The  voice  was  sweet,  rhythmical,  steady.  Its  ac- 
tion upon  the  sick  man  was  magical.  He  obeyed 
submissively,  watching  her  curiously  with  febri- 
lustrous  eyes. 

"Well  and  good,  you  stop  the  noise  then  and 
stay  here.  What  right  have  you  to  go  away," 
he  continued  complainingly,  "and  remain  for 
hours  and  days?" 

"You  must  be  quiet  now,  if  you  wish  me  to 
stay,"  whispered  Alice,  tears  welling  up  in  her 
eyes  at  the  haggard  face  of  Edward  Reynolds. 

"Quiet?  No  one  is  quiet  here.  The  longer 
one  stays  the  louder  the  shrieks.  There,  she  is 
311 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

gone  again.  You  see,  she  will  not  stay.  Poor 
girl,  she  died  ever  so  many  years  ago,  and  they 
buried  her  in  my  heart.  It's  a  shame,  they 
should  bury  the  dead  in  the  heart." 

"Do  you  know  him?"  inquired  the  nurse  of  the 
unhappy  woman. 

"Yes." 

"Is  he  your  husband?" 

"No,"  shivered  Alice,  placing  her  cold  fingers 
upon  the  feverish  temples  of  Reynolds. 

"Where  is  the  ring?"  demanded  the  man  in 
his  delirium,  catching  and  examining  the  white 
hand.  "Oh,  I  remember,  it  is  in  the  trunk,  there 
in  the  golden  casket.  Bring  it  me,  and  I  will 
place  it  again  upon  your  finger.  Do  you  hear?" 
he  demanded  of  the  nurse,  an  angry  flush  mount- 
ing to  his  temples.  "Lift  the  top  of  the  trunk 
and  fetch  me  the  ring."  The  nurse  started  to 
obey. 

"No,  no,"  cried  Alice,  endeavoring  to  release 
her  hand. 

"The  doctor  says  he  must  be  humored,"  said 
the  nurse,  moving  in  direction  of  the  trunk,  and 
raising  the  cover  in  order  to  obey  the  whim  of 
the  invalid,  not  for  an  instant  believing  she  should 
find  a  casket  at  the  place  indicated.  But,  true 
enough,  there  was  the  golden  casket.  She  brought 
and  placed  it  upon  the  cover  of  the  bed.  He  let 
the  fingers  drop,  lifted  the  case  affectionately  and 
312 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

unhasped  the  cover,  revealing  a  diamond  ring. 
It  was  their  engagement  ring. 

"It  has  been  in  the  casket  so  long.  Diamonds 
require  light.  Alice,  give  me  your  hand.  Do 
you  hear,  Darling?  Your  hand!  Fair  and  white 
and  beautiful — my  hand!  Why  don't  you  place 
it  in  mine?"  But  Alice's  hands  were  otherwise 
engaged.  They  were  pressing  against  some- 
thing that  was  rising  in  her  throat,  that  was  sti- 
fling, strangling  her. 

"Ah,  I  say,"  shrieked  Reynolds,  "hold  out  your 
hand." 

"You  must  humor  him  or  he  becomes  violent." 

"I  cannot — oh,  God,  the  mockery  of  it!" 

Reynolds  had  risen  on  one  elbow,  his  face  con- 
vulsed in  passion.  The  nurse  caught  Alice's  hand 
and  pushed  it  within  reach  of  Reynolds. 

"You  shall  answer  for  his  life  otherwise," 
murmured  the  nurse. 

Reynolds  took  the  cold  fingers,  which  were  pas- 
sively permitted  to  remain  in  his.  "See,"  he  ex- 
claimed, his  manner  changed,  placing  the  ring  up- 
on her  finger,  "when  I  come  back  from  college,  we 
will  be  married,  won't  we,  Darling?  You'll  be 
true  to  me,  Alice,  faithful  and  true  as  steel,  won't 
you?  Ah!  I  love  you  so,  my  golden  crowned 
idol!  Flashing — flashing,  my  beloved  one,  see  it 
sparkle!"  He  drew  the  white  marble  hand  and 
pressed  it  against  his  cheek.  "Mine,  forever 
313 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

mine."  Slowly  the  eyes  closed,  and  he  passed 
into  a  fitful  slumber.  Alice  attempted  to 
remove  her  hand,  whereupon  the  sick  man 
clasped  it  with  both  hands.  "Mine,  forever 
mine." 

"Will  you  stay  with  him,  while  I  eat  my  din- 
ner?" inquired  the  nurse. 

"Yes." 

As  the  nurse  disappeared,  Alice  fell  upon  her 
knees  by  the  bedside,  disturbing  the  slumberer. 
"Mine,  mine,  mine,"  he  murmured. 

"Stop,  stop,"  she  breathed,  "or  you  will  kill 
me."  Involuntarily  she  caught  the  white  hands 
and  kissed  them.  "I  love  you,"  she  whispered, 
"I  can  tell  you  now.  I  have  loved  you  always. 
Edward,"  she  begged  piteously,  stooping 
forward  till  her  face  almost  touched,  "try 
hard — listen — repeat  after  me — I — forgive — 
you." 

"NOTHING  HELPS  A  MAN  FORGET  WOMAN  AS 
WELL  AS  WOMAN!"  a  voice  replied  vacantly  from 
the  pillow. 

At  some  noise  Alice  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
turned.  Lord  Howe  and  a  stranger  stood  in  the 
doorway.  The  hand  of  the  old  nobleman  had 
been  laid  upon  the  arm  of  the  stranger  to  arrest 
further  progress.  Lord  Howe  went  forward  and 
taking  Alice's  unresisting  hands  in  his,  said 
brokenly,  "My  poor  child,  you  have  taught  me 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

how  to  beg  forgiveness.  Repeat  after  me — 'I 
forgive  you.' ' 

"I  forgive,  as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven,"  she  said 
solemnly. 

The  stranger  was  the  physician  from  the  city. 


CIS 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Alice  went  to  her  room  complaining  of  a  severe 
headache  and  remained  until  supper  was  an- 
nounced. She  was  aware  that  Lord  Howe  was  in 
possession  of  her  secret;  but,  she  also  knew  that 
the  old  nobleman  was  too  honorable  to  divulge  it. 

As  Lord  Howe  and  the  physician  quit  the  pa- 
tient's room,  they  encountered  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Richards.  The  old  gentlemen  stared  at  each 
other  a  moment  and  grasped  hands  heartily. 

"What  in  the  world  brings  you  here?"  inquired 
the  banker. 

"Edward  Reynolds'  illness,"  replied  the  noble- 
man. "Why,  what  brings  you?"  he  continued. 

"Mr.  Reynolds  sick  and  in  this  house?"  inter- 
rogated Mrs.  Richards. 

"Are  you  not  aware  of  the  fact?"  he  asked, 
looking  at  them  in  turn.  "Indeed,  he  is,  and  the 
physician»informs  me  that  he  is  intractable  to  his 
treatment.  Dr.  Croft  is  considerably  discouraged 
and  advises  a  consultation.  The  chief  trouble 
seems  to  be  the  brain,  superinduced  by  some  shock. 
I  wired  a  celebrated  brain  specialist  of  London  to 
come  at  once  before  starting  here  from  Sion  with 
Dr.  Croft." 

316 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Is  he  so  dangerously  ill?"  asked  the  banker, 
anxiously. 

"Dr.  Croft  tells  me  the  odds  are  very  much 
against  his  recovery,"  brushing  away  a  tear. 

"It  is  fortunate  we  came  this  way,"  declared 
Mrs.  Richards,  "we  shall  remain  until  he  is  out 
of  danger.  Our  traveling  with  carriage  and  the 
storm  seem  much  like  the  hand  of  Providence." 

"Yes,  'The  hand  of  Providence,'  "  repeated  the 
nobleman,  thoughtfully. 

When  Edward  Reynolds  had  been  notified  that 
he  was  likely  to  have  a  severe  illness,  he  indited  a 
letter  to  Lord  Howe,  giving  Mrs.  Bonner  direc- 
tions that  it  should  be  posted  only  in  event  of  his 
dangerous  sickness.  As  he  grew  worse  the  phy- 
sicians finally  advised  that  the  letter  be  forwarded. 
The  letter  was  symbolical  of  its  writer.  It  read: 

"To  the  Right  Hon.  Lord  Howe, 

"London,  England. 

"My  dear  Sir  and  Friend : — I  am  ill,  and  instead 
of  improving,  constantly  becoming  worse.  The 
physician  tells  me  I  am  elected  for  a  long  siege 
of  illness,  and  that  the  outcome  is  problematical. 
While  he  was  so  kind  as  to  allow  that  he  did  not 
want  to  alarm  me,  he  suggested  that  if  I  had  any- 
thing of  special  importance  to  attend  to  it  should 
be  looked  after  without  delay.  Naturally,  such 
frankness  brings  terror,  but  not  so  in  my  case. 
317 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Packing  up  my  earthly  belongings  for  a  long 
journey  consists  in  making  a  will,  which  I  have 
done,  naming  you  my  executor  with  power  of 
substitution,  providing  you  find  the  duties  too 
troublesome.  The  instrument  is  enclosed  here- 
with. I  have  reminded  the  good  people,  to  whom 
I  am  indebted  for  accommodations  that  this  letter 
is  to  be  posted  only  in  case  of  recovery  being  ex- 
tremely doubtful.  May  God  bless  you. 
"Yours  in  farewell, 

"EDWARD  REYNOLDS." 

The  prompt  response  in  person  of  the  old  noble- 
man showed  in  what  regard  he  held  his  young 
friend. 

The  banker  in  turn  related  to  his  friend  how 
they  had  been  driven  to  take  shelter  from  the 
storm,  with  which  the  reader  is  already  familiar. 

"What  has  come  over  Lord  Howe  of  a  sudden?" 
abruptly  asked  the  banker,  addressing  his  wife, 
as  they  were  retiring  a  few  nights  later. 

"In  what  respect?"  inquired  that  astute  lady, 
who  had  noticed  a  change  in  the  nobleman's  con- 
duct toward  Alice,  and  naturally  curious  to  learn 
if  her  husband  had  been  attracted  by  the  recent 
graciousness  of  manner. 

"Why,  in  regard  to  Alice.  I  did  think, 
for  some  cause  or  other,  he  fairly  hated  her,  and 
here  he  is  dancing  attendance  at  her  heels  con- 
.318 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

stanfly.  A  slave  could  be  no  more  subservient  or 
devoted,"  answered  the  banker. 

"It  is  undoubtedly  due  to  the  fact,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Richards,  "that  he  is  much  interested  in  Rey- 
nolds, and  Alice  is  indispensable  to  the  recovery 
of  the  invalid.  He  refuses  to  take  medicine  or 
nourishment,  unless  administered  by  her." 

"Well,  it's  no  difference,"  emphasized  the  bank- 
er, "she's  not  going  to  make  herself  ill,  because 
of  this  unaccountable  whim  of  a  sick  man.  We 
want  to  do  all  in  our  power,  to  be  sure,"  he  con- 
tinued reflectively,  "but  the  health  of  our  daugh- 
ter is  of  far  greater  consequence  than  the  irra- 
tional obstinacy  of  delirium." 

"I  have  remonstrated  with  Alice,"  said  her 
mother,  showing  her  maternal  solicitude.  "It  does 
no  good.  Three  days  and  three  nights  he  has 
taken  no  medicine  except  from  her  hands. 

"I  shall  do  something  beside  remonstrating," 
declared  the  banker,  resolutely.  "If  she  has  no 
consideration  for  herself,  we  have." 

"What  do  you  propose  doing?"  inquired  his 
wife,  hopefully.  She  had  great  respect  for  her 
husband's  resources  in  an  emergency. 

"We  will  hitch  up  the  horses  and  point  toward 
Italy,"  he  replied  sagely,  believing  that  he  had 
cut  the  Gordian  knot. 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Richards,  shaking  her  head 
disappointedly.  "Alice  would  not  budge  a  step. 
319 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

The  specialist  from  London  was  very  particular 
in  directing  that  Mr.  Reynolds  must  be  kept  per- 
fectly quiet,  inasmuch  as  the  least  excitement  is 
liable  to  prove  fatal  to  the  patient;  that  the  in- 
valid must  be  humored  and  cajoled,  if  necessary, 
and  that  the  medicine  must  be  given  according  to 
directions.  It's  a  very  critical  case,  and  Alice 
seems  the  only  one  that  can  do  anything  with 
him.  He  minds  her  like  a  child." 

"Do  you  suppose  she  loves  him?"  asked  the 
banker,  who  was  able  in  no  other  way  to  account 
for  the  conduct  of  his  daughter. 

"I  am  afraid  so,"  admitted  Mrs.  Richards,  after 
a  prolonged  silence. 

"Why  'afraid  so'?"  interrogated  the  banker. 

"Mr.  Reynolds  is  proud,  and,  even  if  he  has 
not  forgotten  her,  his  pride  and  sense  of  injury 
would  not  allow  of  advancement  on  his  part.  It 
would  be  lifelong  suffering  for  both." 

"I  don't  see  why,"  philosophized  the  banker. 
His  courtship  and  marriage  had  been  unattended 
by  mishap. 

"I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Richards,  quietly.  "Alice 
broke  her  engagement  with  him  to  marry  Mr. 
Eldridge."  Then  after  a  moment's  silence,  she 
continued,  "Reynolds  makes  her  wear  her  old  en- 
gagement ring,  and  talks  just  as  he  may  have 
done  before  the  troth  was  broken.  Alice  tells  me 
she  does  not  mind  it  in  the  least.  'Why  should 
320 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

I?'  sne  asks,  'so  long  as  he  is  out  of  his  head,  and 
can  possibly  know  no  better.'  But  a  mother's  eyes 
are  keener  than  a  daughter's  power  of  conceal- 
ment." 

Alice  was  beginning  to  show  the  effects  of  long 
vigils,  the  dark  lines  under  her  expressive  eyes 
giving  the  deep  transparency  of  her  complexion 
a  marble-like  color. 

If  she  had  yielded  to  woman's  weakness  and 
given  way  during  the  first  hour,  there  was  no 
subsequent  sign.  She  was  a  woman  upon  whose 
strength  the  life  of  a  human  being  rested.  She 
had  intuitive  knowledge  it  was  so;  and  that  being 
was  the  man  she  loved.  There  had  been  excuse 
for  her  failing.  Alice  had  believed  herself  gazing 
upon  the  face  of  Edward  Reynolds  for  the  last 
time,  when  he  was  in  Lord  Howe's  carriage  on 
the  streets  of  London,  and  to  find  him  dying — ah, 
well,  Alice  Eldridge  was  not  the  only  woman  in 
this  big  world,  who  has  cried  out  in  bitterness, 
who  has  drawn  aside  the  cold  robes  of  pride  to 
admit  to  the  portals  of  the  soul  the  warm  rich 
streams  of  the  human  heart. 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Yes,  thank  God,  he  would  live.  The  dark 
anxious  hour  of  uncertainty  had  passed. 

"My  brave  little  woman,"  said  the  London 
specialist,  "I  have  met,  during  the  course  of  my 
practice,  many  noble  types  of  women;  but  you 
have  given  me  a  new  ideal  of  womanhood."  The 
physician  had  run  up  to  Alice's  room  to  satisfy 
himself  how  she  was  bearing  up  under  the  opera- 
tion of  the  day  previous. 

A  stranger  had  been  brought  from  the  city 
for  the  purpose  of  having  blood  from  his  body 
transmitted  to  that  of  the  sick  man.  At  the  very 
last  moment,  his  courage  had  failed,  absolutely 
refusing  to  submit  to  the  operation  of  venesec- 
tion. 

"The  delay  before  we  can  procure  someone 
else,"  had  expostulated  the  surgeon,  "will  prove 
fatal  to  the  patient." 

But  regardless  of  all  argument,  the  big  fellow 
feigned  some  excuse  to  absent  himself  from  the 
room,  and  taking  advantage  of  his  liberty  fled 
stealthily  in  direction  of  the  city. 

"Doctor,"  said  Alice,  with  a  mysterious  light 
in  her  eyes,  "I  am  thankful  he  has  gone.  I  do 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

not  want  his  plebeian  blood  mingling  in  the  veins 
of  Edward  Reynolds." 

"What  nonsense!"  replied  the  practitioner, 
"this  is  no  time  for  sentiment.  The  life  of  that 
man,"  indicating  the  slumberer,  whose  feeble 
breath  was  fluttering  in  the  grasp  of  death,  "is 
weighed  in  the  balance,  and  that  villainous  scamp 
has  disappeared.  I  am  nonplussed!"  exclaimed 
the  surgeon,  dejectedly. 

"But  suppose  there  should  be  a  volunteer?"  in- 
quired Alice,  calmly. 

"There  are  no  volunteers  for  work  like  this," 
he  replied,  out  of  sorts,  then  looking  at  the  re- 
cumbent form  upon  the  bed,  he  seemed  commun- 
ing with  the  intricacies  of  his  profession,  "It 
means  delay ;  and  hours, — nay,  moments  are  pre- 
cious. I  shall  have  to  dispatch  for  a  medical 
student  from  Sion.  I  believed  I  could  save  that 
man's  life." 

"Doctor,"  said  Alice,  "there  must  be  no  de- 
lay." 

The  physician  regarded  the  speaker  angrily 
without  daring  to  reply.  To  be  told  by  a  woman, 
at  the  moment  of  his  discomfiture,  "Doctor,  there 
must  be  no  delay,"  was  provocation  for  language 
more  vigorous  than  elegant. 

The   surgical   instruments   had   been   arranged 
conveniently  on  a  table  by  the  bedside,  while  Ed- 
ward   Reynolds'    arm,   wasted   and    emaciated    by 
323 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

disease,  bared  to  the  shoulder,  was  resting  upon 
the  cover. 

"Proceed  with  the  operation."  Alice  Eldridge 
rolled  the  sleeve  of  her  dress  to  the  shoulder,  re- 
vealing an  arm  of  snowy  whiteness.  "I  am  the 
volunteer.  You  must  accept  my  arm  as  a  substi- 
tute. There  is  no  cowardice  in  my  blood." 

The  surgeon  looked  at  the  resolute  woman  in 
blank  amazement,  in  stupefied  incredulity. 

"I  heard  you  tell  that  horrid  man,  that  there  is 
no  danger  and  comparatively  little  pain.  Why 
do  you  hesitate?" 

"We  must  not  think  of  this,"  declared  the  phy- 
sician, vacillating  between  the  sacrilege  of  that 
perfect  arm  and  his  duty  to  the  dying  patient, 
"without  first  consulting  your  parents." 

"My  parents  should  interpose  no  objection  to 
my  resolution,"  stated  Alice,  calmly,  "still,"  she 
continued,  "this  shall  remain  a  secret  between  you, 
the  nurse  and  myself."  And  then  to  taunt  him 
with  dereliction  of  his  duty,  she  continued,  "there 
are  your  instruments,  here  are  the  two  arms,  plac- 
ing them  side  by  side,  "and  according  to  your 
own  words,  the  man's  life  is  in  the  balance." 

"Are  you  equal  to  the  pain?"  he  inquired 
gently,  looking  at  the  slight  delicate  woman 
before  him,  forgetting  for  the  moment  his  pro- 
fession. 

"Am  I  equal  to  the  pain?"   she  repeated  me- 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

chanically,  her  beautiful  angelic  face  reflecting 
a  look  that  might  have  been  seen  upon  the  faces 
of  witnessing  angels  when  the  suffering  of  the 
crucifixion  ceased. 

"Transfusion,  as  I  understand  the  operation," 
said  Banker  Richards,  addressing  his  wife  and 
Lord  Howe,  who  were  seated  beside  him  upon  the 
veranda  while  the  operation  was  performed,  con- 
sists of  the  transmission  of  blood  from  one  per- 
son to  another,  an  incision  being  made  in  the 
veins  of  the  individuals  operated  upon  for  the 
insertion  of  a  tube  to  admit  the  passage  of  blood. 
The  fluid  is  forced  from  the  healthy  system  into 
the  debilitated  one,  by  the  stronger  action  of  the 
normal  person's  heart." 

"I  believe  so,"  replied  the  Englishman,  "It  is 
becoming  quite  common  in  surgery,  especially 
when  there  has  been  excessive  hemorrhage.  Rey- 
nolds has  bled  copiously.  Still,  he  may  be  in- 
debted to  this  very  fact  for  the  preservation  of 
his  life.  The  congested  brain  has  been  relieved 
of  the  pressure  of  blood;  but  on  the  other  hand, 
he  is  left  in  such  a  weakened  state  that  there  is  no 
vitality  remaining  to  build  upon." 

"It  would  seem  that  something  could  be  dis- 
covered to  be  injected  into  the  veins  that  should 
answer  the  same  purpose;  or  that  would  be  even 
yet  more  efficacious,"  remarked  the  banker. 

"Doubtless  there  will  be.  Surgery  to-day  is 
325 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

the  most  progressive  of  any  of  the  sciences,"  re- 
plied the  nobleman. 

"Who  is  this  man  that  consents  to  the  opera- 
tion?" inquired  Mrs.  Richards,  "we  should  re- 
ward him  as  he  richly  deserves." 

"Someone  the  doctor  picked  up,"  replied  Lord 
Howe,  "I  didn't  learn  his  name." 

"Depletion  will  do  him  good.  He  is  as  red  as 
a  lobster,"  commented  Mr.  Richards. 

"I  cannot  bear  to  be  present  at  a  surgical  opera- 
tion, unless  it  is  necessary,"  remarked  Lord  Howe. 

"My  case,  exactly,"  said  the  banker. 

"I  could  never  reconcile  the  theory  of  alleviat- 
ing suffering  by  inflicting  it,"  admitted  Mrs. 
Richards. 

"They  are  a  good  while  about  the  operation," 
said  Lord  Howe,  nervously,  "perhaps,  I  had  bet- 
ter glance  into  the  room.  It  may  be  I  am  needed. 
Whereupon  the  nobleman  rose  and  started  in 
doors. 

"Do  you  feel  exhaustion?"  inquired  the  sur- 
geon of  Alice,  alert  with  the  details  of  the  opera- 
tion. 

"No,  I  am  not  minding  it,"  she  replied. 

"His  pulse  is  much  stronger.  The  color  is  be- 
gining  to  show  faintly  in  his  cheeks,"  continued 
the  surgeon,  beguiling  the  woman  from  whose 
body  that  very  blood  had  escaped,  at  the  same 
time  delighted  with  the  success  of  the  operation. 
326 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

The  physician  was  grasping  a  wrist  of  each  in 
either  hand  noting  the  pulse. 

A  tint  like  the  first  delicate  blush  of  a  ripening 
peach  was  diffusing  itself  over  the  invalid's  cheek. 
Lord  Howe  peeked  in  at  the  door,  and,  not  see- 
ing the  stranger,  quite  naturally  supposed  the 
operation  had  been  performed.  He  tiptoed  to- 
ward the  bed,  and  was  standing  over  the  couch, 
drawn  to  the  bedside,  upon  which  Alice  was  re- 
clining, before  he  realized  what  was  taking  place. 
A  nameless,  speechless  horror  was  uttered  by  those 
eyes,  quivered  in  the  face,  shook  the  old  form 
as  the  truth  dawned  upon  him. 

"It  was  a  matter  of  life  and  death,"  explained 
the  surgeon,  feeling  that  an  apology  was  in  order, 
not  failing  to  observe  the  indignation,  anger  and 
amazement  in  the  old  man's  face.  "The  scoundrel 
fled,"  continued  the  physician,  and " 

"I  was  out  there,"  hissed  the  old  nobleman  dan- 
gerously, "are  all  men  dead  that  a  delicate  woman 
must  be  cut  and  gashed  ?  good  God !" 

"Old  blood  would  not  answer.  This  brave 
woman  volunteered,  in  fact,  commanded  me  to 
proceed." 

"Go,"  whispered  Alice,  "and  keep  mamma  and 
papa  from  entering  the  room." 

Lord  Howe  was  at  the  point  of  ebullition.  He 
knew  he  should  commit  some  unpardonable  folly 
if  he  remained,  and  fled  from  the  room,  in  fact, 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

from  the  house.  As  he  was  passing  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Richards,  he  shouted  to  them  not  to  go  in,  as  it 
would  disturb,  if  not  endanger,  the  life  of  the 
patient.  The  old  nobleman  walked,  or  rather 
trotted,  down  the  road  at  a  pace  he  had  not  set 
his  feet  during  the  past  twenty  years.  He  was 
finally  concealed  from  view  of  the  inmates  of  the 
house  by  a  hedge  of  thorns. 

"You  infernal  old  idiot!"  he  exclaimed,  strik- 
ing the  unoffending  foliage  furiously  with  his 
walking  stick.  "Yes,  you  blooming  idiot!"  he 
howled,  pointing  his  finger  at  himself,  subjective- 
ly, in  the  meantime  suspending  the  vigorous  as- 
sault upon  the  hedge.  "I  tell  you  that  that  wom- 
an— she  isn't  a  woman,  she's — an  angel.  I  feel 
like  thrashing  somebody.  That  booby  is  not  de- 
serving of  her  little  finger.  If  he  don't  marry 
her,  d — n  me !  if  he  don't  marry  her,"  renewing 
his  onslaught  upon  the  hedge,  I'll — I'll  horsehide 
him.  Good  God,  what  an  atonement!  Why,  we 
tortured  that  woman,  I  with  the  rest — body  and 
soul.  Even  her  fair,  tender  flesh  is  mutilated! 
She  gives  her  very  heart's  blood  to  that  simple- 
ton. I  don't  care  a  continental  if  he  is  sick.  Such 
men  ought  to  die!  On  the  seamy  side  of  seventy- 
two,"  he  continued  disgustedly,  "and  just  getting 
to  know  woman."  The  vindictive  and  vituperative 
old  gentleman  was  pretty  well  exhausted  by  the 
violent  expressions,  and  returned  to  the  house  an 
328 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

hour  afterward  in  a  more  settled  frame  of  mind. 

The  next  day  he  was  jubilant.  Reynolds  was 
conscious  and  pronounced  on  the  high  road  to  re- 
covery. The  wandering  mind  had  come  back  to 
an  enfeebled  and  wasted  body.  The  countess 
slipped  a  message  in  the  nobleman's  hand  from 
Alice.  The  lines  had  been  written  by  unsteady 
fingers. 

"Say  nothing  to  Mr.  Reynolds  of  our  presence, 
until  I  see  you,"  it  read.  Lord  Howe  was  always 
suspicious  of  a  brief  letter  in  feminine  chirog- 
raphy. 

Mr.  Richards  was  evidently  oppressed  in  more 
ways  than  one.  The  mutterings  of  enraged  men 
were  heard  in  his  beloved  country.  Conciliation 
and  reason  had  been  found  unavailing.  Blinded, 
passionate,  infatuated  men  were  dividing  a  nation. 
Already  the  lurid  flash  of  internecine  war  was  seen 
around  the  world.  War,  fratricidal  war,  bursting 
forth  in  the  incipiency  of  what  was  to  prove  the 
most  deadly  and  sanguinary  struggle  of  history. 
In  addition  to  deploring  the  awful  catastrophe 
that  seemed  unavoidable,  the  financial  interests  of 
the  banker  were  numerous.  Every  post  brought 
him  urgent  summons  to  come  home  without  delay. 
His  affairs  in  America  required  his  personal  super- 
vision. Yielding  to  the  pressure  of  his  and  his 
daughter's  interests,  he  decided  to  return,  leaving 
his  wife,  daughter,  and  the  Countess  to  continue 
329 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

their  tour.  It  was  thought  best  that  they  should 
return  to  Sion  upon  the  following  day,  where  he 
was  to  bid  them  farewell.  The  doctor  had  assured 
him  that  it  would  be  safe  for  Alice  to  travel.  In- 
asmuch as  no  one  was  allowed  in  Reynolds'  room, 
except  the  nurse,  Alice's  secret  wish  that  they 
might  get  away  without  his  knowledge  of  their 
presence,  was  being  assisted  by  a  force  of  cir- 
cumstances over  which  they  had  had  no  control. 
She  had  bribed  the  nurse,  and  Lord  Howe,  she 
felt  confident,  would  not  refuse  her  that  one  re- 
quest. Alice  dispatched  the  Countess  to  ask  the 
old  nobleman  to  favor  her  with  a  visit.  He  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  with  alacrity. 

"I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  far  convalescent  as 
to  be  sitting  up,"  he  said  coming  forward  and 
taking  her  hands  in  his  broad  palms. 

"And  I  am  glad  your  lordship  is  so  far  inter- 
ested in  me,"  she  admitted  archly. 

"You  are  just  simply  magnanimous  to  pardon 
the  savage  I  have  been  to  you,"  he  declared  with 
a  mixture  of  joy  and  contrition. 

"Indeed,  I  have  nothing  to  pardon.  Your  con- 
duct was  quite  natural.  I  never  failed  to  under- 
stand your  motive." 

"Impulsive  men  are  blunderers.  Your  father 
is  to  be  envied  the  possession  of  such  a  daughter." 

"You  know  not  the  troubles  such  envying  ones 
escape,"  she  laughed.  "By  the  way,"  she  con- 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

tinued,  changing  the  subject,  "I  suppose  papa 
has  told  you  of  our  intended  departure  on  the 
morrow." 

"Yes,  he  mentioned  it.  For  sometime  I  have 
shared  his  confidence  in  respect  to  the  unsettled 
condition  in  America.  He  was  in  hopes  of  spar- 
ing you  and  your  mother  any  needless  anxiety.  I 
regret  the  prospects  of  peace  between  the  North 
and  the  South  are  so  discouraging." 

"Oh,  that  strife  and  bloodshed  may  be  averted !" 
she  breathed,  the  voice  and  words  an  invocation. 

"I  hope  so  with  all  my  heart,"  he  said. 

"Lord  Howe,"  said  Alice,  scarcely  above  a  whis- 
per, "we  are  on  the  eve  of  departure.  In  all  proba- 
bility we  shall  never  meet  again.  I  have  asked 
this  interview  that  I  might  crave  one  boon  in 
parting,"  she  paused  to  note  the  effect  her  words 
were  producing. 

"You  know  in  advance,"  he  replied,  "I  shall 
deny  you  nothing.  So  tell  me  what  it  is  you  wish, 
my  child." 

"That  you  never  disclose  the  knowledge  to  Ed- 
ward Reynolds  of  my,  or  my  parents'  presence  at 
this  house." 

Lord  Howe  dropped  the  hands  he  had  been 
holding. 

"Who  is  to  tell  him?"  he  asked. 

"No  one,  if  I  can  prevent  it,"  she  continued. 

"Is  it  your  wish  that  he  remain  in  ignorance  of 
331 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

the  presence  of    the  brave    and  noble  woman  to 
whom  he  is  indebted  for  his  very  life?" 

"Yes,  even  so,  as  long  as  he  lives.  But  you 
greatly  exaggerate " 

"No,  I  exaggerate  nothing.  This  is  a  sin  you 
are  committing,  and  you  are  asking  me  to  be- 
come an  accomplice,"  he  said,  reprovingly. 

"I  should  neither  commit,  nor  ask  another  to 
commit  crime,"  replied  Alice,  proudly. 

"But  your  parents,  are  they  content?"  he  re- 
monstrated, hopelessly. 

"My  parents  have  confidence  in  their  child." 

"O!  so  have  I,"  he  cried,  "but  don't  do  this; 
tell  me  first,  is  it  an  absolute,  unavoidable  ne- 
cessity ?" 

"His  future  happiness,  in  a  large  measure,  de- 
pends upon  it,"  she  said,  solemnly. 

"And  yours?"  he  asked. 

"Mine — mine,"  she  stammered,  "yes,  even 
mine." 

Lord  Howe  bowed  to  the  will  of  Alice  El- 
dridge. 

"I  am  so  grateful,"  Alice  exclaimed,  attempting 
to  seize  the  hands  of  the  old  nobleman. 

"Please  don't  touch  me,"  he  said  with  some- 
thing of  savagery  in  his  voice. 

"There  are  things  of  which  a  woman  may  not 
speak,"  said  Alice,  letting  her  hands  drop  to  her 
side. 

332 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"And  if  I  refuse?"  questioned  his  lordship  re- 
servedly. 

"I  shall  be  wretched  and  unhappy." 

"Mrs.  Eldridge,"  said  he,  slowly  and  impres- 
sively, "before  I  promise,  confess  to  me  candidly, 
frankly,  as  you  shall  answer  sometime  before  your 
God,  is  this  silence  for  the  best?" 

"It  is,"  her  eyes  did  not  falter  before  the  fixed, 
steady  gaze  of  the  questioner. 

"Then  I  engage  my  solemn  word  that  your  pres- 
ence here  shall  never  be  betrayed  to  Edward  Rey- 
nolds as  long  as  I  live." 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  Her  earnestness  showed  the 
relief  that  his  commitment  to  secrecy  gave  her. 
Without  sharing  her  enthusiasm,  the  old  noble- 
man walked  from  the  room  more  mystified  and  be- 
wildered than  ever. 

Later  in  the  day  Alice  and  the  Countess  were  in 
the  flower  garden  pruning  roses  for  the  sick  room. 
The  former  was  responding  promptly  to  the 
strong  constitutional  vitality  of  her  nature.  Ed- 
ward Reynolds  was  out  of  danger.  That  was  the 
touchstone  of  the  rapid  restoration  of  her  health 
and  spirits.  It  was  a  faultless  day,  with  just 
enough  breeze  from  those  snow-belted  peaks  to 
make  outdoor  employment  inviting,  and  the  two 
women  loitered  a  large  part  of  the  afternoon  in 
the  parterre,  the  Countess  chattering  away  of  her 
husband,  children,  and  home  in  sunny  France., 
333 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Countess  Ratcliff  was  beginning  to  show  symptoms 
of  nostalgia. 

During  the  evening  the  nurse  opened  the  door 
of  Alice's  room  and  entering  unannounced,  whis- 
pered to  her  trusted  confederate  of  the  sick  cham- 
ber: 

"Mr.  Reynolds  is  sleeping,  if  you  will  sit  with 
him,  I  shall  take  a  walk  in  the  cool  twilight.  I 
should  greatly  enjoy  a  few  moments'  stroll." 

Alice  arose,  and,  approaching  the  stand  upon 
which  her  portemonnaie  was  lying,  removed  a 
number  of  crisp  bills,  which  she  placed  in  the 
hands  of  the  nurse. 

"Remember  your  promise,"  she  admonished. 

"Indeed,  I  will;  but  I  dislike  taking  your 
money." 

"I  have  plenty,  and  it  will  enable  you  to  live 
without  such  hard  work.  At  least  a  nest  egg  for 
a  rainy  day." 

The  lamp,  burning  dimly  upon  the  center- 
table,  scarcely  lighted  the  room  sufficiently  to 
enable  the  women  to  discern  the  form  of  the 
invalid. 

"I  shall  return  in  the  course  of  twenty  minutes," 
whispered  the  nurse,  retiring  softly. 

After  the  nurse  had  gone  out,  Alice  crept  silent- 
ly to  the  bed  and  gazed  upon  the  slumberer.  Her 
hands  were  locked  before  her.  Five,  ten,  fifteen 
minutes  and  Alice  Eldridge  had  not  stirred.  It 
334 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

was  the  parting  hour.  She  should  never  see  that 
face  again.  It  was  the  farewell  between  body  and 
soul;  the  finality  of  life  and  love.  She  moved  to 
the  trunk  softly,  and  raising  the  cover,  took  the 
ring  and  caressed  it;  kissed  it;  pressed  it  to  her 
bosom;  held  it  so  the  subdued  rays  of  the  lamp 
were  reproduced  in  a  hundred  miniature  flashes. 
With  tearless  eyes  she  restored  the  trinket  to  its 
place  and  lowered  the  cover  of  the  trunk,  return- 
ing to  the  bedside.  Twice  she  stepped  to  the  stand 
upon  which  the  lamp  was  burning — twice  she  re- 
traced her  steps  to  the  bedside.  The  room  was 
so  gloomy  and  dark!  There  was  an  irresistible 
impulse  to  let  the  light  shine  upon  his  face,  and 
reapproaching  the  stand,  she  took  the  lamp  and 
cautiously  walked  to  the  bed.  She  felt  that  she 
must  see;  that  in  that  parting,  she  should  not  be 
robbed  of  one  single  feature  of  the  beloved  face. 
In  the  cryptic  photographic  processes  wrought  in 
the  laboratory  of  the  soul,  her  memory  should 
treasure  every  feature  and  lineament.  The  bright- 
ness of  the  light  disturbed  the  sleeper,  and  he 
moved  uneasily.  Alice  raised  her  hand  swiftly, 
hesitated — lowered  the  light,  turned  it  out;  but 
Edward  Reynolds'  eyes  had  opened  and  rested 
for  one  brief  instant  upon  a  white  spectral  face 
before  the  room  was  plunged  into  darkness. 

"Alice!"  murmured  the  sick  man,  putting  his 
hand  out  involuntarily  toward  her. 
335 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

"What  do  you  wish?"  inquired  the  nurse,  who  at 
that  moment  arrived. 

"Light  the  lamp,"  gasped  Reynolds. 

Alice  groped  her  way  into  the  hall  more  dead 
than  alive.  When  the  nurse  had  relighted  the 
lamp,  Reynolds  stared  about  the  room  in  a  dazed 
way  in  search  of  the  vision. 

"You  have  had  a  refreshing  rest,"  said  the 
nurse,  placing  a  cordial  to  his  lips. 

"Did  any  one  stand  there  a  moment  ago?"  he 
demanded  before  drinking,  pointing  at  the  vacant 
place. 

"I  was  here  a  moment  ago,"  she  replied  truth- 
fully. 

"Oh,  well,"  he  murmured,  swallowing  the  con- 
tents of  the  glass  and  closing  his  eyes  wearily,  "I 
wonder  if  I  shall  always  have  strange  dreams  and 
see  strange  faces." 

The  following  morning,  bright  and  early, 
Landowner  Bonner  and  his  good  wife  stood  at  the 
gate,  watching  their  recent  guests  disappearing 
in  the  distance,  while  several  additional  pieces  of 
gold  resting  in  the  good  matron's  hand,  caused 
that  woman  to  repeat  the  language  of  the  nurse, 
"They  are  nice  refined  people." 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Michael  Lieb  had  shown  feverish  anxiety  in  en- 
gaging a  studio.  Something  like  a  thousand 
pounds  sterling  from  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of 
"Renaissance"  had  been  expended  for  furniture 
and  rugs.  Notwithstanding  the  squalid  poverty  of 
his  previously  cramped  quarters  in  the  Jew's  attic, 
Lieb  evinced  the  extreme  sesthetic  taste  of  his  art 
for  the  beautiful  and  elegant.  Again,  he  was  sud- 
denly possessed  of  radical  and  revolutionary  ideas 
regarding  his  personal  appearance.  The  most 
fashionable  tailors  were  employed  and  kept  busy 
in  cutting  and  fitting,  until  a  number  of  stylish 
suits  were  finished  for  his  use.  He  was  known  to 
have  been  very  indifferent  in  these  matters. 
Scarcely  a  week  elapsed,  during  which  time  Lieb 
had  been  the  busiest  man  in  London,  before  Miss 
Rivers  received  a  note  that  he  was  waiting  her 
convenience. 

"Lieb's  greatest  luck,  after  all,  is  the  perfect 
sang  frold  of  a  born  aristocrat.  There  is  not  a 
man  in  the  universe  so  unkind  as  to  connect  him 
with  that  Jew's  attic."  The  satire  was  not  with- 
out a  suspicion  of  envy,  the  less  fortunate  speaker 
was  more  handier  with  words  than  with  the  brush. 
337 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

But  there  was  more  to  it.  Lieb  was  in  love. 
This  always  new  and  engrossing  sentiment,  more 
than  likely,  had  had  its  share  in  the  artist's  meta- 
morphosis. Love  is  a  great  renovator.  Lena, 
Rivers  had  replied  to  his  note  on  dainty  paper,  a 
fugitive  scent  of  rose  and  heliotrope  clinging  to 
the  delicate  stationery.  This  young  lady  ex- 
plained that  she  would  come  the  third  day  follow- 
ing to  have  the  first  sitting.  He  treasured  that 
note  as  a  miser  prizes  his  gold.  Michael  Lieb  made 
the  acquaintance  of  time  during  the  next  three 
days. 

He  thought  the  probation  would  never  come  to 
an  end.  The  nearer  the  all  eventful  hour  ap- 
proached, the  more  perversely  time  dragged.  Lieb 
accomplished  nothing  during  the  period.  He  was 
monopolized  by  the  one  absorbing  sense  of  the 
slothfulness  of  the  movement  of  the  hour  hand. 
When  a  man  is  the  victim  of  that  grand  passion, 
he  considers  everything  a  personal  affront  that 
separates  him  from  the  object  of  his  adoration. 
A  man's  first  experience  in  love  is  something  after 
the  order  of  a  freshman  at  college.  He  is  hazed, 
dazed,  and  crazed,  as  some  one  has  been  clever 
enough  to  observe. 

Lena  Rivers  was  punctual  to  the  hour.      She 
ran  up    the    steps  with    the    elasticity  of    youth, 
health  and  a  redundancy  of  spirits  that  seemed  to 
find  relief  in  violent  exertion. 
338 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Why,  how  cozy  you  are!"  she  exclaimed  with 
the  freedom  and  insouciance  of  a  girl  that  had 
been  petted  and  indulged  all  her  bright  young 
life,  examining  rapturously  the  arrangement  of 
the  studio.  The  artist  was  in  a  tremor  of  ecstatic 
delight.  He  feared  to  look  the  bewildering  vis- 
ion of  feminine  loveliness  in  the  face,  and  darted 
into  an  interior  room  to  recover  his  mental  equi- 
librium. A  maiden  aunt  of  Miss  Rivers  came  with 
the  young  lady  and  took  occasion,  during  the 
painter's  absence,  to  reprimand  her  effervescing 
charge  for  making  numerous  minor  changes  in  the 
bric-a-brac  of  the  room,  which  gratuitous  labor 
considerably  imperiled  its  identity. 

"Please  step  this  way,"  called  Lieb,  in  full  con- 
trol of  his  faculties,  "while  we  decide  upon  a 
background.  I  suppose  you  have  already  settled 
the  more  difficult  question  of  pose  and  toilet,"  he 
continued,  venturing  to  join  the  inquiry  with 
a  glance  into  Lena's  bright  eyes  for  the  first 
time. 

"Aunty  and  I,"  replied  Lena,  somewhat  to  the 
annoyance  of  her  elderly  relative,  "have  exhausted 
all  imaginable  costumes,  full  and  decolette,  with 
the  sole  result  of  demonstrating  incompatibility 
of  tastes.  WTe  compromised  by  agreeing  to  let  you 
determine  the  momentous  question  for  us,"  she 
concluded,  sitting  down  composedly  in  a  large 
easy  chair,  and  looking  at  the  artist  confidently 
339 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

as  though  she  expected  him  to  dissipate  all  exist- 
ing troubles  at  a  moment's  notice. 

"I  shall  find  my  responsibilities  sufficiently 
heavy,"  he  laughed,  "in  doing  justice  to  the  sub- 
ject, without  increasing  them  at  the  risk  of  her 
displeasure,"  giving  the  lady  a  very  suggestive 
look  of  admiration,  that  brought  a  slight  flush  to 
the  cheeks  of  the  young  candidate. 

"Oh,  no;  we  are  wholly  dependent.  My  vener- 
able aunty  and  I  have  agreed  to  disagree  to  the 
end.  So  there  is  no  help  for  it.  You  must  de- 
liver us  from  the  Avilderness,"  declared  Lena,  with 
the  austerity  of  a  judicial  decision. 

"Her  head  is  full  of  caprice.  I  warn  you," 
asserted  her  aunt,  irritably,  "more  than  your  pro- 
fession is  at  stake,"  she  proceeded,  "if  you  under- 
take to  confine  her  to  any  one  position,  or  reconcile 
her  contradictions." 

These  two  women  never  did  get  along  together. 
One  was  soda  and  the  other  acid,  and  whenever 
they  mixed  there  was  chemical  action. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Lieb,  believe  me!  My  good  aunty 
is  a  great  traducer,"  protested  Lena,  going  so 
near  to  the  painter  that  the  light  fabric  of  her 
skirts  frisked  against  his  feet.  Just  think,  I 
offered  to  make  every  concession  for  the  sake  of 
peace  and  harmony.  I  even  was  so  gracious  as 
to  consent  to  be  placed  on  canvas  with  the  same 
background,  identical  pose  and  dress  that  my 

340 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

charming  aunty  chose  for  herself  in  a  painting 
by  Muller,  and  would  you  believe,  my  aunt  de- 
clared it  preposterous  for  one  so  frivolous  and 
tempestuous  to  be  classified  in  such  quiet  surround- 
ings, whereupon  dear  aunty  nearly  fainted  as  I 
assured  her  I  would  be  so  obliging  as  to  be  painted 
in  a  storm,  a  real  cyclone,  with  the  wind  blowing 
hurricanes." 

"Oh,  you  incorrigible  child!"  exclaimed  the 
elderly  lady  with  a  painful  vision  of  Lena's  storm 
pose  and  startling  attitudes  fresh  in  mind. 

"I  just  wish  you  would  paint  me  in  'Renais- 
sance,' holding  the  torch,"  declared  Lena,  sweetly. 

"Mercy!  The  torch  of  reason!"  ejaculated  the 
aunt,  horrified.  "What  a  travesty !" 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  paint  your  portrait  as 
I  choose?"  inquired  the  artist,  looking  at  Lena, 
evidently  having  reconsidered  the  subject  and  will- 
ing to  assume  all  responsibilities. 

"What  say  you,  aunty  dear,  yes  or  no?" 

"I  do  not  doubt "  commenced  that  lady 

diplomatically. 

"Yes  or  no?"  demanded  Lena. 

Balzac  it  is,  who  says,  "A  woman  will  say  'no* 
in  just  two  letters,  and  'yes'  in  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  different  ways."  At  any  rate  it  was 
beyond  the  question  to  get  an  affirmative  to  the 
proposition  from  the  lady  indicated,  until  she  had 
been  carefully  informed  of  every  detail  and  cere- 
341 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

mony.  This  took  time,  but  when  fully  related, 
she,  as  well  as  Lena,  was  perfectly  delighted  with 
the  plans  and  specifications,  as  it  were. 

Artist  Lieb  worked  with  soul  and  brain  intent 
upon  the  execution  of  the  commission,  with  which 
he  was  intrusted.  Lena  came  daily,  chaperoned 
by  her  elderly  aunt,  and  sat  for  an  hour.  Every 
day  the  artist  drank  deeper  of  that  intoxicating 
vintage. 

Gradually  she  began  to  see  herself  stepping 
from  concealed  labyrinths  of  chrome  into  life  size 
upon  the  canvas.  The  artist  worked  as  though 
possessed.  The  painting  was  as  faithful  as  the 
reflection  of  a  mirror.  The  work  progressed  for 
three  short  happy  weeks.  One  hour  each  day, 
Michael  Lieb  was  in  Paradise;  the  remaining 
twenty-three  hours  were  purgatory.  He  was  hope- 
lessly and  irretrievably  enamoured  of  his  fair  pa- 
tron. The  expression  "Seventh  Heaven"  is  not 
always  an  extravagant  and  figurative  one  as  ap- 
plied to  mortals.  The  phrase  is  far  from  being  a 
hyperbole. 

How  many  times  during  these  weeks  the  two 
had  talked  of  Edward  Reynolds.  Lieb,  with  re- 
freshing candor,  had  kept  nothing  in  reserve. 
Lena  had  listened  to  his  benefactor's  praise  with 
undisguised  appreciation.  With  womanly  tact, 
when  the  subject  was  changed,  she  would  lead  the 
conversation  back.  Reynolds  seemed  to  him  a  way 
342 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 

to  her  favor,  and  he  accepted  the  convenience  as  a 
means  to  the  end  of  winning  her  preference.  The 
"charming  aunty"  was  a  model  chaperon.  With 
her  crocheting,  for  which  she  entertained  a  mania, 
sitting  decorously  in  an  adjoining  room,  she  was 
as  eblivious  as  a  sphinx  of  the  progress  the  artist 
and  Lena  were  making  on  either  of  the  roads  of 
love  or  art. 

Lena  was  late  one  day.  The  artist  was  tor- 
mented with  a  hundred  and  one  disquieting 
thoughts.  Was  she  ill?  he  asked  himself.  Per- 
haps displeased  with  something  he  had  said;  no, 
that  could  not  be,  because  he  had  at  all  times  been 
discreet  and  guarded.  Maybe  the  painting  was 
at  fault.  Again,  yesterday  he  had  held  her  arm, 
studying  its  graceful  rotundity.  Had  he  offended 
her? 

Ah.  That  was  her  step.  His  heart  gave  a 
bound  of  joy — no — yes.  He  ran  to  the  reception 
room,  but  stopped  abruptly  as  the  door  opened 
and  Lena  Rivers  entered. 

"Good  God!  What  is  it,  Lena?"  he  cried,  look- 
ing at  the  woman  whose  portrait  he  was  painting. 
"Lena,"  springing  to  her  side  and  forgetting  his 
habitual  reserve,  "why  are  you  so  white  and  your 
great  eyes  staring  at  me  so?  Speak,  Lena,  you 
are  torturing  me !" 

"He  is  dying,"  she  cried.  "In  mercy's  name, 
save  him.  Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  wringing  her 
343 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

hands,  hysterically,  "why  do  you  stand  there?  I 
tell  you  he  is  dying;  your  benefactor  is  dying. 
Oh!  I  shall  go  mad!  Why  do  you  tremble  and 
turn  to  marble?  I  thought  men  act,  when  they 
love,"  she  moaned,  "dying — dying!  My  love! 
my  love!" 

Like  a  bolt  from  heaven,  the  truth  had  crushed 
into  the  brain  of  the  artist.  Michael  Lieb  swayed 
backward  and  forward,  his  long  slender  fingers 
clutching  his  throat,  and  with  an  expression  of 
agony  depicted  in  every  feature,  he  gave  a  shriek 
such  as  mortal  ear  never  heard  and  fell  at  full 
length  upon  the  floor  at  her  feet.  Michael  Lieb 
was  conveyed  to  his  mother's  home  a  raving 
maniac. 


344 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Queen  Victoria's  life  is  entwined  in  a  thousand 
gracious  acts  that  will  never  be  recorded  in  the 
annals  of  history.  An  evening  in  June,  1861, 
England's  fair  Sovereign  was  seated  in  her  car- 
riage near  the  railway  station  of  the  London, 
Chatham  and  Dover  line. 

Thronging  the  central  depot  were  some  two 
thousand  young  men  and  boys,  young  women  and 
girls.  It  was  evident  that  the  unusual  numbers 
were  not  met  by  chance  or  accident.  To  the  evi- 
dent delight  of  all,  the  whistle  of  the  engine  was 
heard  at  no  great  distance.  The  look  of  happy 
expectation  upon  the  faces  of  the  hundreds  of 
young  people  changed  to  one  of  animation,  as  the 
long  line  of  coaches  finally  rolled  up  and  stopped. 
A  stream  of  passengers  began  to  alight.  The 
young  people,  of  whom  mention  is  made,  remained 
together,  while  looks  and  even  murmurs  of  dis- 
appointment were  beginning  to  be  seen  and  heard 
among  them.  At  this  time  someone  shouted, 
"There  he  is!"  The  next  moment  a  loud  accla- 
mation burst  forth.  Edward  Reynolds,  the  cause 
of  this  commotion,  did  not  look  upon  the  scene 
unmoved.  There  were  young  men  and  women 
345 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

mixed  in  that  great  crowd  of  welcomers,  who  had 
traveled  hundreds  of  miles  upon  brief  leaves  of 
absence,  in  order  to  be  present  at  the  homecoming 
of  their  saviour.  Reynolds  had  received  no  intima- 
tion of  the  demonstration.  His  feet  had  no  sooner 
touched  the  platform,  than  he  was  surrounded  by 
the  eager,  enthusiastic,  frantic  legion  of  young 
people,  each  envious  of  the  other  in  the  first 
handshaking  and  greeting. 

"Make  way  there!"  cried  a  member  of  the 
Queen's  bodyguard,  stepping  forward  as  the 
crowd  separated,  to  deliver  her  Majesty's  mes- 
sage. 

"The  Queen  wishes  a  moment's  interview.  She 
waits  yonder  in  her  carriage.  I  will  conduct  you 
to  her  presence." 

Reynolds  followed  the  messenger  and  bowed 
low  before  the  august  but  womanly  Sovereign. 

"I  come  with  these  young  people  to  welcome 
your  arrival,  and  offer  my  carriage  to  convey  you 
home,"  said  the  Queen,  extending  her  hand. 

"England's  illustrious  Queen,"  replied  Rey- 
nolds, bowing  lowly  over  the  royal  hand,  "has 
shown  me  an  honor,  the  memory  of  which  shall  be 
cherished.  But  I  am  to  these  young  people  what 
your  most  gracious  Majesty  is  to  her  millions  of 
loyal  subjects.  Your  gracious  Majesty  will  suffer 
me  to  return  to  my  boys  and  girls." 

"A  man  of  a  million,"  remarked  England's 
346 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Queen,  as  she  was  driven  away  after  having  seen 
the  American  conducted  back  to  the  hilarious 
young  folk,  who  gave  their  idol  another  cheer 
upon  seeing  him  part  with  the  Queen  to  rejoin 
them. 

Their  king  had  come  back.  The  king  of  hu- 
manity had  returned  from  Death's  door!  It  was 
an  hour  of  enthusiasm  and  rejoicing.  Even  the 
rugged  face  of  old  Hardsides  was  seen  moving 
among  the  motley  crowd,  tears  moistening  his 
eyes.  It  was  more  than  a  conqueror's  triumphant 
return.  Gratitude,  aifection,  veneration,  love 
prompted  those  grateful  hearts  to  crowd  about 
their  hero. 

"My  boys  and  girls,"  said  Reynolds,  good 
naturedly,  exhausted  by  an  hour  of  hand  shaking, 
"we  are  forgetting  I  am  not  strong,  and,  per- 
haps, if  I  am  excused  to  get  a  little  rest,  you  will 
not  be  angry." 

"Reynolds  is  not  strong,  we  will  bother  him 
no  more  to-day — make  way!  Where  is  Lord 
Howe  and  his  carriage? 

The  carriage  of  Lord  Howe  was  in  attendance. 
Within  were  seated  the  old  nobleman,  who  had 
been  an  interested  spectator  of  the  novel  scene, 
accompanied  by  his  friend  Rivers  and  the  latter's 
daughter. 

There  was  another  spectator  to  that  scene.  A 
fair,  beautiful  woman  was  crouching  against  the 
347 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

column  supporting  the  roof  of  the  depot.  She 
was  in  the  very  outskirts  of  the  multitude,  still 
nothing  had  escaped  her  bright  vigilant  eyes. 
From  first  to  last,  she  had  stood  as  motionless  as 
a  statue.  She  comprehended  the  action  of  the 
Queen,  the  infinite  and  excessive  joy  of  the  youth, 
the  pleased  surprise  of  the  wanderer.  Oh,  if  she 
could  only  rush  forward,  too,  and  feel  the  mes- 
meric touch  of  those  gentle  hands,  and  hear  the 
benediction  of  that  voice.  At  last  she  saw  Ed- 
ward Reynolds  lifted  into  the  carriage.  She  had 
not  noticed  the  conveyance  before,  and  she  looked 
blankly  into  the  faces  of  the  occupants.  Lord 
Howe,  grand  old  man,  his  face  beaming  with  hap- 
piness, and  a  stranger?  Yes — no — she  had  seen 
that  face  before.  Ah !  Yes,  she  remembered  now. 
She  was  walking  the  streets  of  London,  the  Duke 
of  Berwick  at  her  side.  But  there  was  a  fourth 
then.  A  fair,  fresh  face,  even  to  girlishness.  Ah, 
God,  a  sharp  stinging  pain,  like  the  point  of  a 
poniard,  pricked  through  her  heart — Alice 
Eldridge  recognized  the  woman  that  had  darted 
past  her  to  the  side  of  Edward  Reynolds  in  the 
Art  Gallery  of  London. 

The  carriage  rolled  away.  Then  the  figure  at 
the  pillar  moved  and  looked  about  in  a  dazed  way, 
as  though  to  find  her  bearings. 

"America !  Dear  old  America !"  she  whispered, 
her  gaze  fixed  upon  the  western  sky.  "Thank 
348 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

God!  To-morrow  I  shall  feel  the  waves  of  the 
ocean  rolling  beneath  me.  The  ocean  that  sepa- 
rates us  forever  and  forever!  He  in  England — I 
in  America !  Oh,  I  am  tired  and  homesick." 


849 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

While  yet  in  Switzerland,  Edward  Reynolds 
had  notified  his  legal  advisors  to  realize  money 
upon  all  American  securities  which  he  possessed. 
All  pacific  measures  having  failed,  war  was  inevit- 
able between  the  North  and  South. 

It  was  a  singular  coincidence  that  these  securi- 
ties should  have  been  converted  into  cash  upon  the 
day  of  his  arrival  in  London.  He  had  been  repre- 
sented in  the  matter  by  a  young  barrister,  who 
had  formerly  had  an  acquaintance  with  the  night 
school.  The  lawyer  had  received  the  money  after 
banking  hours,  and,  unwilling  to  assume  the  re- 
sponsibility of  guarding  the  treasure,  had  sought 
the  owner  for  instructions.  "Bring  it  '  here," 
Reynolds  had  advised  him. 

It  was  during  the  afternoon  of  the  first  day 
of  Reynolds'  return  to  London  that  he  listened 
to  the  particulars  of  poor  Lieb's  great  affliction. 
Edward  had  been  informed  that  Lieb  was  ill,  but 
did  not  know  of  the  serious  character  of  his  illness. 
But,  to  be  told  that  overwork  and  the  unprecedent- 
ed success  had  undermined  the  reason  of  the 
young  genius,  was  a  blow  that  nearly  prostrated 
him.  Reynolds'  grief  was  inconsolable.  He 
350 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

could  not  accept  the  decree  as  final.  It  was  even- 
ing before  he  managed  to  visit  the  artist.  He 
could  not  rest  for  a  sense  of  guilty  neglect,  if  he 
did  not  call  to  see  his  unfortunate  friend.  Of 
the  hundreds  he  had  helped,  Leib  was  his  favorite. 
The  old  mother  of  the  artist  met  Reynolds  at  the 
door,  and,  upon  recognizing  her  visitor,  gave  way 
to  a  torrent  of  tears. 

"Do  not  weep,  my  good  woman,"  said  Reynolds, 
reassuringly,  putting  an  arm  kindly  around  the 
trembling  mother,  "I  am  here  and  we  will  have 
him  all  right  again  directly." 

"Oh,  my  poor  boy,"  she  sobbed,  "there  is  no 
help.  They  are  going  to  take  him  to  the  asylum 
to-morrow,  where  his  father  is  confined,"  she 
moaned  piteously. 

"Calm  yourself,  and  trust  to  me,"  said  Reyn- 
olds. 

As  he  entered  the  room  where  the  artist  was  con- 
fined, Lieb  raised  himself  on  one  elbow  and  stared 
at  Reynolds.  There  is  an  unwritten  language  in 
men's  eyes  at  times  that  reads  as  plainly  as  printed 
words,  "Stand  back."  For  the  life  of  Edward 
Reynolds  he  could  not  have  explained  why  he 
stopped  at  the  center  of  the  room,  midway  be- 
tween the  door  and  the  bed,  fascinated  by  the  de- 
testation, hate,  horror,  the  burning,  loathing,  and 
abhorrence  gleaming  in  those  dilated  orbs.  Reyn- 
olds was  no  sooner  aware  of  the  feeling  than  he 
351 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

was  ashamed  of  the  weakness,  and  approaching 
the  bedside,  took  the  damp  clammy  hand  of  the 
artist,  saying  kindly,  "Lieb,  don't  you  know  me? 
I  have  come  back  to  you." 

"Yes,"  the  compressed  lips  faltered,  while  great 
beads  of  perspiration  collected  upon  the  forehead, 
under  the  eyes  and  about  the  mouth,  all  the 
more  noticeable  because  of  the  bloodless  face. 
"Yes,  yes,  I  know  you,  I  never  shall  forget — 
YOU  !" 

There  was  no  responsive  pressure  ef  the  fingers 
which  Reynolds  clasped,  while  the  other  hand  of 
the  artist  was  moving  furtively  over  the  counter- 
pane, the  fingers  clutching  spasmodically  the  folds 
of  the  spread. 

The  drops  of  perspiration  united  and  trickled 
down  the  painter's  face. 

"You  must  hurry  and  get  well,"  said  Reynolds, 
trying  bravely  to  conceal  his  emotion.  "Miss 
Rivers  tells  me  that  she  is  impatient  for  her  por- 
trait, and  is  anxious  for  your  early  recovery.  She 
misses  the  visits  to  the  studio." 

"You  have  seen  her  and  talked  with  her?"  in- 
quired Lieb,  his  voice  shaking  and  husky.  The 
lips  of  the  artist  moved  as  he  spoke,  but  the  sound 
seemed  to  proceed  from  another  direction,  while 
the  fingers  stole  to  the  wrist  of  Reynolds  and 
were  closing  and  opening  fitfully. 

"I  believe,"  said  the  burly  attendant,  "I'll  step 
352 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

across  the  way  and  get  a  mug  of  beer  while  you 
are  sitting  here,  if  you  have  no  objections." 

As  the  door  closed  upon  the  retreating  form, 
the  artist  turned  upon  his  side,  freeing  his  limbs 
of  all  impediments  save  the  edge  of  the  coverlets. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  action  to  excite  suspicion. 
It  was  the  natural  desire  to  shift  position,  con- 
sequent to  illness;  but,  despite  it  all,  Reynolds  was 
oppressed  by  a  sense  of  dread,  a  premonition  of 
evil.  He  attributed  his  anxiety  to  the  nervous- 
ness of  a  weakened  physical  state.  He  was  not 
strong  yet,  and  found  himself  regretting  that  the 
attendant  had  been  permitted  to  withdraw,  and 
was  speculating  upon  the  probable  duration  of  his 
absence. 

There  is  something  so  weird  and  supernatural  in 
the  fixed  and  changeless  stare  of  a  person,  to  say 
nothing  of  that  of  a  madman,  that  the  object  of 
espionage  invariably  shows  disquiet  and  irritation. 
Reynolds  felt  that  a  voice  would  be  some  com- 
pany, even  if  it  were  his  own,  and  spoke  as  much 
to  exorcise  the  dark  foreboding  from  his  spirit  as 
anything  else. 

"I  shall  bring  Miss  Rivers  to  see  you,  if  you 
like."  The  words  sounded  remote,  recoiling  upon 
themselves,  or  off  at  a  distance  like  ventrilo- 
quism. 

"Parade  the  love  you  have  stolen  from  me!!' 
hissed  the  artist,  springing  from  the  bed  and 
353 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

grappling  with  Reynolds,  who  was  dazed  by  the 
rapidity  and  impetuosity  of  the  attack. 

"Never!  Never!"  shrieked  the  artist,  forcing 
his  unwilling  antagonist  backward. 

Reynolds  realized  that  he  was  in  the  embrace  of 
a  madman,  possessed  of  the  strength  of  a  dozen 
men,  and  braced  himself  for  the  encounter.  He 
had  not  the  heart,  if  it  were  in  his  power,  to  in- 
flict corporal  injury  upon  the  demented  artist;  but 
at  the  same  time  he  was  resolved  upon  suffering  as 
little  personal  damage  as  possible.  With  a  sud- 
den movement,  he  shook  the  madman  from  him 
and  springing  with  the  agility  of  a  cat,  placed  a 
large  center  table  between  them. 

"Ha!  Ha!  You  think  to  escape  my  venge- 
ance," shouted  the  artist,  surveying  the  feeble  im- 
pediment that  gave  momentary  resistance  to  his 
murderous  rage. 

"Lieb,"  panted  Reynolds,  looking  steadily  into 
the  blazing  eyes,  "I  command  you  to  stop." 

A  wild  animal  may  be  vanquished  by  fixed  and 
constant  gaze,  not  so  a  wild  man. 

"  'Command' !"  the  artist  repeated,  his  features 
working  convulsively.  "Perjurer!  Thief!  Your 
dominion  has  ceased!  Oh,  fair  dark  fiend,  you 
have  robbed  me  of  Lena's  love.  Her  words  are 
ever  ringing  in  my  ears,  like  sleepless  cathedral 
bells.  Why  did  you  not  die?  Live  to  cheat  me, 
eh?  Ha!  Ha!  Will  she  love  you  when  I  have 
354 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

torn  that  false  sallow  face;  rended  that  white 
throat  and  gouged  out  those  treacherous  eyes?" 

With  a  demoniacal  yell,  he  scaled  the  barrier 
between  them,  as  easily  as  a  panther  might  have 
leaped,  and  clutched  his  benefactor.  With  un- 
erring precision,  the  maniac  had  griped  the 
throat  of  Reynolds  and  clung  with  the  tenacity 
of  a  vise.  This  way  and  that  way  they  surged, 
overturning  the  center  table  and  furniture.  Reyn- 
olds was  at  a  disadvantage,  clutching  at  the  bare 
skin  of  the  madman,  whose  muscles  were  as  com- 
pact as  steel  bars.  He  tried  to  release  the  talons 
sinking  deeper  into  his  neck.  He  ran  about  the 
room,  the  bloodhound  clinging  to  his  throat.  He 
beat  the  demon  in  the  face. 

"Ha!  Ha!    Who's  master  now?"  laughed  Lieb. 

Reynolds  was  suffocating.  He  hurled  his  as- 
sailant upon  the  bed,  dragged  him  to  the  floor, 
rolled  upon  him,  over  him,  but  the  madman  was 
ever  dangling  at  his  throat.  He  tried  to  pry  away 
the  forceps  of  steel.  His  strength  was  failing 
him;  his  eyes  were  bloodshot;  his  brain  splitting. 
Good  God!  It  was  strangulation — death!  With 
superhuman  strength,  born  of  love  of  life,  he  tore 
at  the  fingers  of  iron,  twisting  deeper  and  deeper 
into  his  neck,  throwing  himself  backward,  forward, 
sideways,  bearing  the  palpitating,  clinging,  sinis- 
ter human  cobra  depending  from  his  neck.  There 
is  surplus  energy  in  the  last  despairing  cast  for 
355 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

life.     For  one  instant,  with  the  surcharged  blood 
bursting    from   his    nostrils   and   spattering   over 
the  naked  figure  of  his  would-be  assassin,  he  gazed 
into  the  merciless,  murderous  eyes.     The  face  of 
the   madman   was   dancing   everywhere.      He   was 
hydra-headed,    argus-eyed.      Reynolds    staggered 
and  reeled  unsteadily  upon  his  feet,  when,  draw- 
ing back  his  clenched  fist,  he  shot  it  outward  into 
the   faces  that  were  legion,   falling   forward   un- 
conscious.      Side    by    side    Reynolds    and    Leib 
lay  upon  the  floor,  the  awful  illumination  of  in- 
sanity blazing  in  the  eyes  of  the  artist,  who  was 
watching  with  fiendish  exultation,  the  purple  face 
so  close  to  his  own,  with  those  fingers  still  clinging 
remorselessly  at  the  other's  throat.    At  this  critical 
juncture   the    door    opened,   and    the    attendant 
stepped  into  the   room.     The    next    moment    he 
crossed  the  floor  and  was  dragging  the  artist  from 
the  inanimate  victim  of  the  latter's  fury.     With 
all    his    prodigious    strength,    he   pushed    his    big 
fingers  between  those  of  the  artist  and  Reynolds' 
neck. 

"Stop!"  howled  the  madman,  as  he  became 
aware  of  the  purpose  of  the  attendant.  "Desist ! 
Hell !"  he  hissed,  his  bare  legs  twisting  and  writh- 
ing like  those  of  a  contortionist  around  the  body 
of  Reynolds.  "Damnation!  I'll  murder  you!" 
He  shrieked,  doubling  up  like  a  cat,  resisting  with 
the  strength  inspired  by  homicidal  mania  the 
356 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

fingers  wedging  under  his  own.  "Perdition!  Re- 
lease my  hands!  Oh!  Oh!  O — "  he  yelled  in  im- 
potent rage,  as  the  attendant  Hercules  pried  open 
his  fingers,  and  the  neck  of  the  victim  slipped  from 
the  deadly  grasp. 

The  attendant  bore  the  crazed  artist  and  hurled 
him  upon  the  bed.  Exhaustion,  often  prostration, 
follows  excessive  exertion.  The  artist  lay  still, 
breathing  with  difficulty.  An  ambulance  was  sum- 
moned, and  Reynolds  was  carried  to  a  hospital, 
where  his  swollen,  bleeding  neck  received  proper 
attention,  afterward  being  conveyed,  at  his  re- 
quest, to  his  own  home.  The  horrors  of  that  night 
were  to  cling  like  a  hideous  nightmare  to  the  mem- 
ory of  Edward  Reynolds.  The  words  of  the  mad 
artist  in  reference  to  Miss  Rivers  were  sounding 
in  his  ears.  He  understood  it  all.  Reason  had 
revolted,  and  the  rich  mind  of  the  artist  had  per- 
ished upon  the  fires  kindled  at  the  altar  of  love. 
Love !  The  destroyer  of  his  life's  peace  and  hap- 
piness. Love !  That  had  dethroned  the  reason 
of  the  friend  whom  he  cherished  most  of  all. 
Love!  And  he,  unwittingly,  as  God  was  his  judge, 
had  brought  another  fair  young  life  under  the 
shadow  of  that  curse.  No !  One  life  should  be 
made  happy.  He  would  repair  to  his  utmost  by 
gentleness  and  kindness  the  injury  he  had  done 
her,  at  least. 

Lena  was  good  and  beautiful.  There  were 
357 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

harder  fates  for  better  men.     It  is  so  easy  to  re- 
solve. 

Despite  the  administration  of  powerful  narco- 
tics, Reynolds  could  not  sleep.  He  would  no  soon- 
er close  his  eyes  than  the  awful  scene,  like  a  hide- 
ous phantasmagoria,  was  conjured  up  in  his  brain 
and  re-enacted.  He  had  a  horror  of  falling  into 
a  doze  and  persuaded  the  young  advocate,  who 
had  insisted  upon  remaining  during  the  night,  to 
lie  down,  while  he  got  up  and  dressed.  Seating 
himself  in  a  large  rocking-chair  near  a  partly 
open  window,  Reynolds  found  the  change  prefer- 
able to  the  visions  of  the  bed;  besides,  the  pain 
in  his  swollen  neck  was  greatly  relieved  by  a  sit- 
ting posture.  Hour  after  hour,  he  sat  rocking, 
to  and  fro,  with  thoughts  like  unto  firebrands 
singeing  and  torturing  him.  He  even  envied  Lieb 
the  loss  of  his  faculties.  He  felt  it  must  be  a  re- 
lief to  go  mad.  He  heard  the  clock  strike  one — 
two — three.  At  last  a  sense  of  drowsiness  stole 
upon  him.  He  pinched  himself  in  order  to  keep 
awake.  He  feared  the  nightmare  of  sleep  even 
more  than  the  breedings  of  wakefulness.  But, 
despite  it  all,  the  head  nodded,  the  eyes  finally 
closed,  and  he  fell  asleep.  How  long  he  slept 
he  never  knew.  He  dreamed  he  was  suffocat- 
ing again;  that  he  could  not  breathe.  It  seemed 
to  the  slumberer  that  there  was  great  confusion; 
bells  were  ringing  and  people  shouting  on  the 
358 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

streets.  Something  was  pounding  the  pavement 
like  the  roar  and  vibration  of  chariot  racing. 

It  was  the  fire  engines  thundering  over  the  flinty 
streets. 

"Fire!  fire!" 

No  man  could  sleep  with  such  a  din  in  the 
neighborhood.  Reynolds  opened  his  eyes  to  peer 
into  a  chamber  dense  with  smoke,  while  the  crack- 
ling of  a  vast  conflagration  was  deafening.  He 
tried  to  move,  but  the  numbness  of  his  limbs  filled 
him  with  terror.  He  realized  that  the  stupor  was 
produced  by  inhaling  the  dense  smoke.  With 
heroic  effort,  he  rose  from  the  chair,  and  going  to 
the  bed  upon  which  his  companion  was  lying,  tried 
to  awaken  him,  the  heavy  respiration  of  the  bar- 
rister, showing  advanced  stages  of  asphyxiation. 
Reynolds  was  himself  again.  He  rushed  to  the 
door,  which  he  had  taken  the  precaution  to  lock, 
owing  to  the  treasure  in  the  room  and  opening  it, 
a  sheet  of  flame  darted  at  him.  He  swung  it  to 
with  a  bang  and  crossed  to  a  door  leading  into  an- 
other chamber  from  which  he  thought  to  escape. 
Here,  also,  communication  was  shut  off.  He  ran 
to  the  window  and  raised  the  sash.  Below  and 
above  fire  was  bursting  from  every  opening.  The 
intrepid  firemen  upon  the  street  caught  sight  of 
Reynolds  at  the  window.  A  ladder  was  hastily 
raised  to  the  third  story;  but  the  fiery  elements 
burned  these  avenues  of  escape  to  charred  crisps, 
359 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

before  the  top  rung  was  in  reach  of  the  imprisoned 
man.  Away  at  the  left,  some  forty  feet,  at  an 
angle  of  the  building,  the  ravage  caused  by  the 
flame  was  not  so  great,  and,  consequently,  the 
heat  less  intense.  It  he  could  reach  that  point, 
ladders  might  be  raised  and  he  should  escape.  Di- 
rectly under  the  window,  easy  of  access,  ran  a  cor- 
nice a  foot  wide  with  a  steep  slope.  He  might  step 
upon  it  and  walk  cautiously  to  the  haven  of 
safety.  The  feat  was  full  of  peril,  but  it  was  the 
last  lingering  chance  of  life.  He  ran  back  to  the 
bed. 

"Wake  up,"  he  shouted  in  the  ears  of  the 
sleeper,  "the  building  is  in  flames — we  shall  per- 
ish." He  shook  the  man  violently,  meeting  with 
no  response.  Whatever  was  done  had  to  be  done 
quickly.  He  stooped  and  tugged  at  an  iron  chest 
beneath  the  bed.  A  million  and  a  half  dollars 
in  securities  and  gold  were  locked  in  that  iron 
vault.  He  thought  to  hurl  it  from  the  window, 
but  it  would  have  taken  the  combined  strength  of 
four  men  to  carry  it;  then  he  turned  suddenly  to 
the  bed  again  and,  lifting  the  limp  form  of  the 
barrister  in  his  arms,  glided  to  the  window.  It 
was  suicide  to  venture  out  upon  that  slender  path. 
Those  on  the  pavement  sixty  feet  below,  divining 
his  purpose,  shouted  that  he  save  himself.  Ed- 
ward Reynolds  was  not  the  man  to  abandon  a 
comrade  in  peril.  Slowly  he  lowered  himself 
360 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

upon  the  cornice  with  the  man  lying  across  the 
sill.  This  done,  he  raised  the  still  object  in  his 
arms,  with  their  bodies  inclining  slightly  in  the 
window,  then,  with  every  muscle  rigid  and  tense, 
he  swung  his  burden  carefully  out  and  pushed 
it  past  the  projection  of  the  window  frame.  This 
accomplished,  he  balanced  himself  like  a  rope- 
walker  and  moved  cautiously  forward,  while  those 
upon  the  ground  held  their  breath.  The  scene 
to  those  breathless  spectators  was  that  of  a 
man  walking  in  space  bearing  a  burden  in  his 
arms.  The  trained  firemen  understood.  To  them 
one  glance  was  sufficient.  The  odds  were  against 
that  brave  fellow,  but  if  he  reached  his  destina- 
tion he  should  be  saved.  Up  went  a  ladder,  and 
a  second  one,  while  fearless  firemen  mounted  to  an 
elevation  horizontal  to  that  of  the  battler  for  life. 
Reynolds  realized  what  had  been  done  and  crept 
along  slowly,  hugging  the  building.  His  hands 
and  face  were  blistered  by  the  appalling  heat,  still 
he  moved  steadily  forward.  One  misstep  was  in- 
stant destruction.  Cn  the  other  hand,  there  was 
menace  in  the  forced  deliberation  of  his  move- 
ments. The  unconscious  man  was  liable  to  revive 
at  any  moment,  and  that  meant  certain  death.  The 
false  lifting  of  an  arm's  weight  over  that  yawning 
chasm  would  lose  their  balance  and  precipitate 
them  to  the  pavement  below.  Ten  feet  more  to 
traverse;  but,  within  that  distance,  the  flames 
361 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

were  freshly  bursting  from  a  window.  A  grapple 
had  been  fastened  to  a  window  jamb  with  a  rope 
secured  to  an  iron  hook,  while  the  fireman  next  the 
creeping  man  had  snapped  the  other  end  of  the 
rope  to  his  belt  and  stepping  upon  the  cornice  ad- 
vanced cautiously  to  the  window,  from  which  the 
tongues  of  flame  were  darting  forth,  to  offer  any 
aid  in  his  power  to  the  apparently  doomed  man. 
Edward  Reynolds  had  made  the  perilous  passage, 
to  be  confronted  at  the  very  moment  of  safety 
with  a  new  and  insurmountable  danger.  He 
and  the  firemen  were  separated  by  a  fiery  fur- 
nace. 

"Push  the  man  ahead.  Don't  lose  your  bal- 
ance. If  I  can  catch  his  arm  I'll  save  him.  Stay 
where  you  are,"  directed  the  fireman,  "and  you 
can  be  saved  in  the  same  way." 

"Move  back!"  came  the  answer  from  the  other 
side  of  the  blazing  window;  "I  am  coming 
through." 

Below,  thousands  of  people  saw  the  man  enter- 
ing the  awful  caldron  of  flame,  and  held  their 
breath  in  suspense.  Great  God!  Where  was  he? 
The  smoke  and  flame  enveloped  him.  Had  he  fal- 
len within  the  window  and  perished?  Some 
women  screamed;  others  fainted;  the  cheeks  of 
strong  men  blanched;  the  watchers  lowered  their 
eyes  or  turned  away  their  gaze  from  the  human 
holocaust.  No  one  spoke;  no  one  seemed  to 
362 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

breathe.     The  very  atmosphere  was  charged  with 
apprehension. 

"Look!"  cried  a  voice.  "He  lives!  He  has 
passed !" 

The  diverted  eyes  again  sought  the  place. 
Emerging  from  the  smoke  and  flame,  groping  his 
way  forward  like  a  blind  man,  inch  by  inch,  their 
garments  in  flames,  was  the  man  and  his  burden. 

"I  have  him,"  exclaimed  the  fireman.  "Let 
go,"  he  continued,  and  the  next  moment  the  fear- 
less fireman  shot  to  the  pavement,  according  to  a 
secret  process  of  ladder  descent  firemen  alone  pos- 
sess, grasping  the  barrister. 

Reynolds  had  been  relieved  of  his  unconscious 
weight.  He  was  faint  and  dazed.  The  pain 
caused  by  his  burning  garments,  and  the  fright- 
ful blisters  upon  his  face,  neck,  and  hands  were 
excruciating,  intolerable.  The  tall  spires  and 
steeples  were  revolving  and  whirling  before  his 
vision,  while  the  rush  and  roar  in  his  head  was  the 
collision  of  worlds.  He  fought  against  the  illu- 
sion. To  yield  to  the  new  foe,  he  realized,  was 
certain  death.  A  few  feet  more;  a  half-dozen 
careful  steps,  and  he  should  live.  With  a  super- 
human effort  he  shook  the  weakness  from  him. 
Salvation  was  at  his  finger-tips. 

Life!     How   mighty   and   infinite  the   unnum- 
bered thousands  of  invisible  chains  binding  us  to 
life!     Men  are  known  to  be  calm  and  intrepid  at 
363 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

moments  of  supreme  peril.  At  such  times  they 
will  reckon  with  the  nicety  of  a  mathematician, 
calculate  with  the  accuracy  of  a  civil  engineer, 
comprehend,  by  some  governing  law  of  their  na- 
ture— instinct — self-preservation — whatever  it  is, 
that  which  at  moments  of  personal  safety  and  se- 
curity is  absolutely  unintelligible.  There  are 
lofty  minds,  cool,  imperturbable  natures,  that  rise 
like  an  emanation  of  kinship  with  God  at  times 
of  trial  and  affliction. 

Reynolds'  nerves  of  iron  had  stood  him  in  good 
stead.  Fumes  of  the  burning  flesh  of  his  own 
body  were  drawn  into  his  dilated  nostrils. 

Suddenly  above  the  roar  and  confusion  of  con- 
flagration rang  forth  the  hideous,  mirthless,  in- 
human laughter  of  the  insane. 

"Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ashes!  Ashes!  Black, 
smoldering  ashes !  An  ash  heap !  Ha !  Ha ! — 
of  the  magician's  infernal  college !  He,  the  devil 
that  feeds  our  bodies  to  starve  our  souls!" 

That  demoniacal  voice,  between  a  shriek  and  a 
whisper,  paralyzed  the  limbs  of  Edward  Reyn- 
olds. Whence  proceeded  the  sound?  Where  was 
the  madman? 

"Lieb!"  shouted  Reynolds,  turning  his  face  up- 
ward and  gazing  upon  the  awful  apparition,  with 
the  life  currents  congealing  in  his  veins.  There, 
far  above,  beyond  human  help  or  reach,  on  the 
very  topmost  tower,  was  the  demented  painter, 
364 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

still  clinging  to  the  fatal  torch  with  which  he  had 
rushed  from  room  to  room,  from  story  to  story, 
igniting  all  combustible  and  inflammable  material 
with  the  fiendish  mania  of  incendiarism. 

"The  torch  of  reason  lighting  the  world!" 
shrieked  the  artist,  waving  the  blazing  fagots 
above  his  head  in  long,  spectral,  sweeping  flour- 
ishes. "Even  as  the  blackness  of  night,  this  dark 
mask  of  gloom  resting  upon  the  world,"  he 
howled,  brandishing  the  beacon  high  above  his 
head,  "is  penetrated  by  the  glare  of  the 
devil's  burning  rookery.  Ha !  Ha !  See  the 
lurid » 

"Lieb!"  shouted  Reynolds,  raising  a  hand  as 
though  to  save  him.  "Oh,  God,  is  it  an  hallucina- 
tion— a  spectre?" 

"Hark!  Who  calls  Lieb?"  demanded  the  ma- 
niac, peering  over  the  walls  of  the  tower,  his  gaze 
resting  upon  the  upturned  face.  "Not  dead?"  he 
yelled,  his  features  working  convulsively  at  recog- 
nition. "Not  dead? — Who'll  save  thee  now?"  he 
hissed,  swinging  his  form  upon  the  edge  of  the 
tower  and  preparing  to  spring.  As  Reynolds  be- 
came aware  of  the  deadly  purpose,  he  closed  his 
eyes.  The  next  instant  a  dark  object,  clutching 
at  everything  within  reach,  shot  downward,  crash- 
ing into  one  of  the  ladders,  which  also  crumbled 
and  fell.  Darkness  was  swimming  in  Reynolds' 
eyes.  He  believed  he  was  dying — sinking — fall- 
365 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ing.  There  was  numbness — anaesthesia — freedom 
— a  sense  of  bliss — joy — rapture — oblivion. 

In  less  than  thirty  seconds  the  second  fireman 
had  reached  the  pavement,  with  an  unconscious 
object  in  his  arms,  while  a  hoarse,  tumultuous 
shout  and  acclamation  from  a  thousand  throats 
greeted  the  brave  exploit. 

Two  months  later,  passing  the  doors  of  the 
hospital,  and  entering  the  streets  of  London,  no- 
one  would  have  recognized  in  the  scarred  and  dis- 
figured face  the  classic  countenance  of  Edward 
Reynolds. 


366 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

"No,  my  lord,  it  is  of  no  use.  I  should  hardly 
know  how  to  preside  over  an  institution  depend- 
ent upon  an  endowment  of  state,"  said  Edward 
Reynolds. 

"But  you  are  left  perfectly  free  to  act  as  you 
see  fit,"  insisted  his  lordship;  "confidence  in  you 
is  unbounded." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Reynolds;  "still,  I  simply 
cannot  accept  the  position.  The  work  is  con- 
genial, the  salary  all  that  can  be  asked;  but,  my 
lord,  I  should  be  found  wanting.  I  have  done 
things  in  my  own  way  so  long,  you  see,  that  habit 
is  formed.  A  board  of  directors  would  hardly 
suspend  criticism  upon  some  of  my  expenditures, 
if  what  I  have  done  in  the  past  with  my  own  means 
were  to  be  repeated." 

"We  will  suppress  adverse  comment,"  continued 
Lord  Howe,  in  his  impulsive  way.  "  *A  tree  is 
known  by  its  fruits'." 

"But  a  tree  needs  constant  watching  and  prun- 
ing," insisted  Edward. 

"May  I  inquire  what  you  propose  doing?" 
asked  the  nobleman. 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  younger  man,  "if  there 
367 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

is  one  in  the  wide  world  entitled  to  make  that  in- 
quiry it  is  your  lordship.  First,  let  me  review  a 
moment.  The  state  has  already  provided  for  my 
boys  and  girls,  with  competent  instructors  at  the 
head  of  the  proposed  institution.  Hardsides  is  a 
noble  old  soul,  and  thoroughly  interested  in  the 
work.  He  is  more  tractable  than  I  should  be  to 
outside  interference.  In  addition,  the  church  will 
be  reconciled  to  his  supremacy.  There  are  cer- 
tain ministers  who  think  that  the  destruction  of 
the  home  of  my  children  was  because  of  Divine 
displeasure.  I  have  heard  it  intimated  that  the 
fire  and  my  painful  injuries  are  the  visitation  of 
God's  wrath,  incurred  because  I  preached  to  those 
children  without  ordination.  Thus,  there  have 
been  conflict  and  friction." 

"The  vaporings  of  mediocrity,"  burst  in  his 
lordship. 

"Be  that  as  it  may,  there  have  been,  neverthe- 
less, constant  impediments  placed  in  my  way.  I 
could  tell  you  of  innumerable  instances  where  con- 
tracts for  employment  have  been  cancelled  be- 
cause of  this  influence.  True,  I  have  borne  widi 
it  in  silence.  My  fortune  alone  was  involved.  I 
sought  other  situations,  always  triumphing  in  the 
end.  Oh,  the  intolerance  of  the  church!  But 
the  spirit  of  charity  and  love  shall  eventually  re- 
ceive and  dedicate  each  and  every  act  done  in  the 
service  of  Christian  fellowship,  however  humble 


and  unworthy  the  instrumentality.  It  is  so  hard 
for  the  church  to  acknowledge  that  good  can  be 
done  other  than  by  the  church  itself.  In  the 
worst  person  living  there  is  some  good;  enough, 
perhaps,  to  be  shaped  into  a  cross,  where  the  mul- 
titude of  his  sins  are  expiated.  How  can  man, 
confined  within  bounds  and  limitations,  presume 
to  place  interpretation  on  the  conscience  of  the  in- 
finite God?  I  am  not  better  in  that  I  have  been 
condemned;  nor  am  I  worse.  I  would  and  do  ex- 
cuse the  persecution;  but  it  seems  incredible  that 
men  should  construe  the  loss  of  my  fortune  and 
the  very  scars  upon  my  face  as  an  argument  that 
nothing  can  prosper  in  the  glorification  of  God 
without  the  sanction  of  the  church." 

"They  are  confounded,"  declared  his  lordship. 
"It  is  acknowledged  upon  all  hands  that  had  it  not 
been  for  the  wholesome  lessons  you  have  taught, 
the  splendid  efforts  being  made  at  this  very  mo- 
ment would  never  have  been  put  forth." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  I  can  retire  from  a  field, 
where  my  services  can  be  dispensed  with  so  easily, 
without  regret.  All  is  being  done  possible  to  do. 
The  aegis  of  kindness  and  protection  will  hover 
over  the  tender  years  of  unfortunate  children. 
There  will  be  greater  unity  between  government 
protection  and  the  church.  My  work  in  England 
has  terminated.  In  my  own  beloved  country  the 
fangs  of  discord  and  strife  are  rending  the  fair 
369 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Columbia.  Separation  and  disunion  threaten  the 
preservation  of  the  Republic.  Both  North  and 
South  believe  themselves  right.  At  this  distance, 
I  am  able  to  see  much  to  justify  the  South.  But 
no  principle,  however  ably  advocated,  can  avail 
against  the  life  of  the  Republic.  There  will  be 
carnage,  devastation,  ruin  of  the  wealth  of  na- 
tions; but  at  the  end,  after  millions  of  lives  shall 
have  been  sacrificed,  after  untold  treasure  shall  be 
spent,  'ONE  AND  INSEPARABLE'  shall  be  written  in 
letters  of  fire  before  the  gaze  of  the  world.  Pres- 
ident Lincoln  has  called  for  200,000  volun- 
teers  " 

"Stop!"  exclaimed  his  lordship.  "You  cannot 
think  of  the  life  of  a  private  soldier !" 

"I  do  not  'think',"  replied  Reynolds,  "I  am  re- 
solved. Without  a  moment's  delay  I  shall  enter 
the  rolls  of  my  countrymen  in  the  cause  of  free- 
dom, in  the  struggle  for  the  preservation  and  per- 
petuity of  the  Republic." 

"You  have  so  many  in  America  to  do  all  you 
can  do  in  the  ranks,  and  we  so  few  to  continue  the 
work  you  alone  began,"  argued  Lord  Howe. 

"You  have  a  treasure  in  Hardsides.  I  should 
have  kept  him  with  me  had  matters  remained  as 
they  were.  He  will  not  disappoint  you." 

"Well,  a  man  is  happier  in  doing  that  which 
he  believes  to  be  his  duty.  I  would  not  dissuade 
you,  if  I  could.  However,  I  regret  you  are  not 
370 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

able  to  see  your  obligations  here.  Halloo !  I  be- 
lieve there  is  Rivers  and  his  daughter.  I  was  not 
expecting  them,  but  they  are  none  the  less  wel- 
come," declared  his  lordship,  excusing  himself  and 
going  to  greet  his  guests. 

As  he  withdrew  from  the  room,  Edward  Reyn- 
olds rose  and  walked  before  a  large  mirror,  stand- 
ing some  moments  in  front  of  the  glass. 

"Well,  fate  has  decided  this  matter  for  us,"  he 
muttered.  "Under  no  circumstances  will  I  permit 
that  lovely  creature,  even  if  she  should  now  so  de- 
sire, to  be  encumbered  with  my  life  and  poverty. 
There  is  a  brighter  fate  in  store  for  her." 

The  approach  of  footsteps  warned  him  from  his 
attitude.  Scarcely  had  he  stepped  aside,  when 
the  door  opened  and  the  nobleman,  accompanied 
by  his  guests,  entered.  It  was  the  first  meeting 
between  Lena  and  Edward  since  the  fire  and  his  in- 
juries. Despite  himself,  Edward  felt  a  measure 
of  embarrassment. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  so  far  convalescent  as  to 
be  about  again,"  said  Mr.  Rivers,  heartily  shaking 
hands. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Reynolds.  Lena  was  a  step 
behind  her  father.  "And  Miss  Rivers,  I  trust, 
shares  the  sentiment  of  her  father,"  said  Edward, 
taking  the  extended  hand. 

"Indeed  she  does,"  replied  Lena,  fervently, 
meeting  the  steady  gaze.  She  had  darted  one 
371 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

swift  glance  at  the  neck  and  left  cheek,  then,  with 
a  strange  light  in  her  eyes,  they  rested  upon  those 
of  the  man.  To  her  that  face  was  never  so  beau- 
tiful, so  noble. 

"We  come  down  to  bid  farewell,"  said  her  fa- 
ther; "we  go  to  pass  a  couple  of  months  with  rela- 
tives in  Lancashire."  Had  he  seen,  also,  the  light 
shining  in  his  child's  soul?  Reynolds  guessed 
the  reason  of  his  departure. 

"My  friends  are  all  deserting  me,"  said  his  lord- 
ship; "Mr.  Reynolds  starts  for  America  directly." 

"For  America !"  repeated  Lena,  her  hand  press- 
ing against  her  neck  where  throat  and  bosom  meet. 
Then  she  stooped,  and,  lifting  a  cluster  of  house 
flowers,  pretended  to  admire  them. 

"Come,  go  with  us,"  said  Rivers,  addressing 
his  lordship ;  "I  promise  you  a  capital  time." 

"There  are  people  who  forget  that  I  am  no 
longer  a  boy,"  laughed  his  lordship. 

"Well,  if  Mr.  Reynolds  goes  to  America,  you 
will  find  time  dragging  heavily,"  admonished  Mr. 
Rivers. 

"I  have  been  gallivanting  around  of  late  more 
than  one  of  my  years  is  supposed  to  do.  But," 
he  added,  "was  ever  a  man  so  rewarded?"  patting 
his  grandson  on  the  shoulder  with  one  hand  and 
motioning  toward  Reynolds  with  the  other. 

"By  the  way,"  inquired  Rivers,  "have  you  seen 
the  article  in  the  Times  this  morning?"  The  ar- 
372 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

ticle  mentioned  was  an  acrimonious  attack  upon 
the  political  opinions  favored  by  the  two  gentle- 
men. 

"No.     Does  it  do  us  justice?" 

"Ample,  it  seems,  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
opposition,"  replied  Rivers.  The  two  old  gentle- 
men walked  to  a  distant  window  in  order  to  read 
and  discuss  the  strictures  published  upon  them, 
leaving  Lena  and  Edward,  who  had  recovered 
somewhat  from  the  awkwardness  of  their  position, 
by  themselves. 

"You  must  feel  quite  lonesome  without  your 
young  people  to  look  after,"  said  Lena,  dropping 
the  rose  foliage  she  had  been  holding. 

"Yes,  I  miss  the  youngsters.  Children  are  tor- 
ments, always  will  be,  for  that  matter;  but  they 
grow  in  our  affections,  especially  if  the  relation  of 
dependency  exists." 

"Papa  tells  me  that  Parliament  has  taken  de- 
cisive measures  in  behalf  of  the  children  you  have 
protected." 

"Indeed,  poor  Lieb  did  me  a  greater  service 
than  he  knew,  upon  severing  my  connection  in  the 
care  of  the  little  ones." 

"I  should  think  you  would  regret  to  leave  them 
in  order  to  go  to  America,"  said  Lena,  stooping 
to  pick  a  withered  petal  from  a  flower. 

"I  regret  more  the  necessity  that  compels  my 
return." 

373 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

"I  do  not  quite  catch  jour  meaning,"  replied 
Lena. 

"The  war  between  the  States,"  he  replied. 

"What  a  horrible  thing  war  is!"  shuddered 
Lena. 

"Indeed  it  is,  at  best.  But  civil  war!  Father 
arrayed  against  son;  brother  pitted  against 
brother.  The  South  hopeful  of  dismembering  the 
Union;  the  North  determined  to  preserve  the  sis- 
terhood. I  had  thought  never  to  go  back  to 
America." 

"Will  you  return  to  England  when  hostilities 
cease?"  asked  Lena. 

"Yes,  if  I  live." 

"  'If  you  live'  ?"  repeated  Lena,  her  voice 
trembling.  "Do  you  intend  joining  the  army? 
Have  you  had  military  training?" 

"Soldiers  are  drilled  before  being  placed  under 
the  fire  of  active  service,"  explained  Reynolds. 

"But  the  life  of  a  private  soldier — the  exposure 
and  privation,"  pointed  out  Lena. 

"But  generals,  alone,  do  not  fight  battles.  Sol- 
diers are  needed  to  win  victories.  Already  the 
call  for  help  has  gone  forth.  TTTO  hundred  thou- 
sand of  my  countrymen  are  asked  to  volunteer, 
and,  as  I  see  my  duty,  it  lies  there." 

"But  the  war  will  not  last  long.  Surely  the 
South  will  yield  submission,"  insisted  Lena. 

"Ah,  Miss  Rivers,  there's  where  the  trouble  lies. 
374 


EDWARD    REYNOLDS 

The  South  does  not  know  what  the  word  'submis- 
sion5 means.  There  are  no  more  brave  and  chiv- 
alrous people  than  the  Southerners.  It  will  be  a 
war  of  extermination.  They  believe  their  rights 
have  been  invaded.  From  infancy  they  have  been 
taught  to  regard  the  institution  of  slavery  as  Mo- 
saic law,  and  they  know,  as  well  as  the  people  of 
the  North,  that  either  slavery  or  the  Republic 
must  end.  Both  cannot  dwell  in  the  same  house- 
hold. The  South  has  been  educated  to  believe 
that  sovereign  allegiance  is  due  the  state;  the 
North  that  sovereign  allegiance  is  due  the 
Union." 

"But  papa  thinks  the  war  will  not  last  longer 
than  a  year." 

"A  year?"  replied  Reynolds.  "Please  God, 
your  father  may  be  right.  But  years  shall  come 
and  go  before  the  end  of  this  unholy  strife.  Mill- 
ions of  lives  shall  be  offered,  a  country  shall  be 
laid  waste,  the  North  or  the  South  shall  be 
crushed,  before  a  cessation  of  hostilities.  I  know 
the  spirit  of  my  countrymen.  They  surrender 
their  lives  without  a  murmur  in  a  cause  considered 
just.  But  laying  down  and  surrendering  arms, 
abandoning  the  struggle — never!  The  last  thou- 
sand men  of  the  South,  able  to  bear  arms,  will  be 
found  stubbornly  dying  at  their  post,  gaunt  with 
hunger,  burning  with  thirst,  barefoot  and  in 
rags." 

375 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Don't  go  to  the  States,"  said  Lena,  in  a  low, 
pleading  voice. 

"What  is  left  me  here?  My  fortune  has  been 
swept  away.  Out  of  a  million  and  a  half,  less 
than  $30,000  in  gold  were  found  melted  in  a 
corner  of  the  iron  chest;  and  maimed  and 
scarred " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  ashamed  to  be  heard  com- 
plaining; or,  arrested  by  the  light  flashing  in  the 
woman's  eyes. 

"Make  another  fortune.  You  can  do  it.  You 
can  do  anything.  The  West  Indies,  Brazil,  South 
America,  lie  before  you;  but,  fortune  or  no  for- 
tune, never  speak  of  those  scars  in  that  way  again. 
Remember  how  you  received  them." 

Lena  Rivers  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  with  few 
rivals  more  beautiful  of  face  or  graceful  of  form. 
Her  life  had  been  one  long  round  of  pleasure. 
Wealth,  riches,  the  life  of  ease  and  elegance,  were 
indispensable  to  her  happiness.  To  have  resigned 
her  envied  position  would  have  taken  from 
her  life  its  chief  adornment.  She  could  cheer- 
fully have  waited  a  quarter  of  a  century  in  order 
for  the  man  she  loved  to  make  a  fortune.  But 
she  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  renouncing  life 
as  to  marry  unless  that  marriage  meant  a  continu- 
ation of  the  life  she  had  lived.  Luxury,  splen- 
dor, and  display  were  as  essential  to  her  being 
as  the  glittering  jewel  of  a  crown  to  a  sovereign. 
376 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

The  poverty  of  a  few  paltry  thousands  was  prof- 
anation. By  education  and  environment — the 
education  and  environment,  alas,  of  many  an 
Anglo-Saxon  aristocratic  daughter — the  heart  had 
been  taught,  as  deeply  as  the  heart  can  receive 
instruction,  that  the  great  desideratum,  the  grand 
achievement  of  life,  is  the  parade  of  boundless 
wealth.  Lena,  all  over  this  great  world,  if  thou 
couldst  but  look  into  the  lusterless,  void  lives  of 
thy  fated  prototypes,  thou  wouldst  not  be  gather- 
ing these  priceless  pearls  of  the  soul  to  cast  them 
with  those  beautiful  hands  beneath  trampling 
feet. 

Follow  those  wretched  creatures  to  their  majes- 
tic, loveless  homes.  Go  with  them  to  their  cham- 
bers, smothered  in  costliest  tapestry,  embossed  in 
silver  and  gold,  and  read  the  pity  of  it  all — the 
cost  of  it  all — in  the  whitening  faces  and  trem- 
bling hands,  as  jewels  without  price  are  torn  from 
snow-white,  swan-fashioned  throats  and  cast  upon 
the  floor,  when  the  master's  footstep  falls  at  the 
threshold  of  that  door.  Oh,  it  were  well,  if  the 
hearts  of  slaves  were  purchased  with  their  fair 
bodies  at  the  millionaire  auction  blocks! 

"Make  another  fortune.  You  can  do  it.  You 
can  do  anything.  The  West  Indies,  Brazil,  South 
America !" 

How  many  a  cry  has  gone  out  to  man  from 
woman's  bleeding  heart!  "Make  a  fortune. 
377 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Save  me  from  myself.  There  is  Brazil,  South 
America,  the  West  Indies!  Go,  but  return  to  me 
rich!" 

Alas !  how  many  a  man  has  dashed  into  those 
paths,  blazoned  with  skulls  and  skeletons,  in  quest 
of  that  mythical  Eldorado,  without  other  chart 
and  compass  than  a  woman's  command :  "Go,  but 
return  to  me  rich!" 

Lena  Rivers'  heart  was  both  true  and  false: 
true  to  the  lap  of  luxury  in  which  she  was  reclin- 
ing; false  to  the  fair  priestess  of  the  soul,  ever 
pleading  for  the  larger  life — the  sweeter,  dearer 
life  of  truest  womanhood. 

Edward  Reynolds  was  contemplating  in  his 
mind's  eye  two  women :  Alice  and  Lena,  one,  faith- 
less, and  the  other — well,  it  made  no  difference 
particularly.  Still,  he  had  felt  for  these  women 
sentiments  of  love  and  respect.  Between  those 
two  women,  he  should  have  chosen  his  companion 
for  life.  They  were  both  beautiful,  both  gifted. 

Yet  one  was  faithless,  and  the  other .     Well, 

how  does  woman  love?  She  seems  sincere.  A 
woman  will  blush  and  tremble  and  blush  in  ac- 
knowledging captivity.  The  loves  of  woman  are 
as  so  many  intoxications.  Men,  to  women,  are  as 
the  various  vintages  of  wine:  port,  sherry,  cham- 
pagne, Bordeaux,  the  kind  producing  the  least 
headache  and  annoyance  having  final  preference. 
The  more  beautiful  woman  may  be,  the  better  ex- 
378 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

pert  she  becomes  in  choice  beverages.  In  the 
main,  women  are  pretty  much  alike.  A  woman's 
beauty  is  her  weapon.  She  instinctively  under- 
stands its  several  uses  and  employments.  Man,  in 
the  clumsiness  of  his  strength,  is  no  match  for 
woman  in  the  security  and  charm  of  her  weakness. 
A  man's  knowledge  of  woman  equals  his  under- 
standing of  electricity,  gravitation,  and  a  few 
other  recondite  mysteries.  A  woman's  knowledge 
of  man  is  secretive,  intuitive,  infinite.  By  a  flash 
of  an  eye  she  can  translate  man  to  the  transports 
of  heaven,  and  pierce  every  secret  of  his  inmost 
thoughts.  The  more  we  study  and  know  of 
woman,  the  greater  our  admiration  of  her  power; 
and,  despite  it  all,  the  more  indispensable  she  be- 
comes to  our  happiness. 

Oh!  The  possibilities  of  Brazil,  West  Indies, 
South  America!  Alice  and  Lena!  He  would 
close  the  portals  of  his  heart  against  womankind. 
Brazil,  West  Indies,  South  America!  Recover 
the  fortune  he  had  lost!  Replace  the  thousands 
wiped  out  by  conflagration. 

"If  I  survive  the  war,"  he  at  last  replied,  slowly 
measuring  his  words,  "I  will  make  another  fortune 
somehow — somewhere." 

"Will  you  come  to  England  then?"  The  words 
had  rushed  to  her  lips,  fresh  from  the  glow  and 
warmth  of  the  heart.  Her  voice,  the  warm  per- 
fume of  her  breath  upon  his  cheek,  and  all  the 
379 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

glory  of  womanhood  fascinating  him  as  by  a  spell. 

"Yes,  if  I  succeed.     And  you " 

"Oh,"  replied  Lena,  once  more  bending  over 
the  rose-bush  and  picking  a  bud,  "I  shall  be  here." 

"Is  the  rambler  dying,"  asked  Mr.  Rivers,  com- 
ing forward,  "that  you  two  give  it  so  much  at- 
tention?" 

"No,  papa,"  laughed  Lena,  fully  recovered; 
"see,  it  is  in  bud  and  blossoming,"  holding  up  to 
her  father's  view  the  pink  bit  of  rose  anatomy  she 
had  just  plucked. 

"In  bud  and  blossoming,"  laughed  Lord  Howe, 
suggestively,  rescuing  the  fragrant  blossom  from 
the  fate  of  immediate  destruction. 

"Come,  Lena,  we  have  been  beguiled  already, 
and  must  make  haste  to  answer  for  delay,"  look- 
ing steadily,  if  not  inquisitively,  at  the  happy 
face  of  his  daughter,  while  giving  orders  that  the 
carriage  be  brought  to  the  door. 

"By  the  way,"  explained  Lord  Howe,  "I  re- 
ceived a  letter  yesterday  from  the  Duke  of  Ber- 
wick. He  announces  that  he  intends  sailing  di- 
rectly for  America,  as  special  correspondent  for 
the  London  Times." 

"The  Duke  of  Berwick!"  exclaimed  Lena. 
"There  is  a  rumor  that  he  is  engaged  to  marry  an 
American  heiress.  It  is  she  with  whom  we  saw  the 
Duke  walking  the  day  of  the  sales,  while  driving 
from  the  Gallery  upon  the  boulevard.  Ah,  yes,  I 
380 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

remember,  your  competitor,"  she  continued,  turn- 
ing to  Edward.  "I  have  seen  her  twice;  once,  on 
the  streets,  and  again,  under  the  roof  at  the  rail- 
way station.  It  was  the  day  of  your  return.  She 
was  an  interested  spectator  of  that  singular  scene. 
My!  She  is  worth  millions  in  her  own  right,  so 
they  say,  besides  being  an  only  daughter  of  a  rich 
banker.  They  are  to  be  married  in  America." 

"There  is  our  carriage,"  interrupted  her  father. 
"Come,  Miss  Tardiness,  get  ready." 

"In  a  moment,  papa.  Would  you  deprive  me 
of  the  pleasure  of  gossip?  Yes,"  she  continued, 
"the  Duke  is  much  in  love.  He  has  abandoned 
all  his  bad  habits  and  old  associates,  and  has  taken 
up  a  course  of  study  with  the  view  of  entering 
politics.  Every  one  predicts  that  we  shall  hear 
from  him  some  day.  Anyway,  he  is  to  be  con- 
gratulated in  winning  such  a  beautiful  and 
wealthy  lady  for  the  mistress  of  the  Berwick  es- 
tates." 

"Come,"  repeated  her  father. 

"Humph!"  ejaculated  Lord  Howe.  "You  are 
more  likely  to  be  the  Duchess  of  Berwick,  than 
that  American  lady." 

"I!"  she  exclaimed.  "Good-bye,  Lord  Howe, 
papa  is  out  of  patience;  and  you,"  she  said,  ex- 
tending her  hand  to  Edward,  "you — why,  your 
hand  is  as  cold  as  ice!  Are  you  ill?" 

"No,  certainly  not.     What  a  fancy !" 
381 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Well,  I  am  not  going  to  say  good-bye  to  you ; 
it  is  only  an  au  revoir."  She  was  looking  into  a 
white  face — white,  she  thought,  because  of  that 
parting.  "Years  are  as  days,  and  days  are  as 
years,  until  we  meet  again,"  she  whispered.  "Au 
revoir." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Edward.  "I  will  return  to 
England."  He  was  thinking,  "  'They  are  to  be 
married  in  America!'  I  will  come  back  rich  as 
the  richest.  I  have  a  sudden  mania  for  money." 

"Thank  you."  Her  small,  white,  transparent 
fingers  gave  a  pressure  that  thrilled  the  object  of 
their  touch.  "I  will  be  the  first  to  welcome  you." 
They  walked  to  the  side  of  her  father,  who  was 
standing  at  the  carriage.  Edward  took  her  hand 
and  assisted  her  to  the  seat.  Lena  Rivers'  heart 
was  a  battle-ground,  where  a  fierce  and  bitter  war 
was  being  waged  between  pride  and  love.  She 
was  seized  with  an  irresistible  impulse.  She 
would  not  let  him  go!  She  would  keep  him  for- 
ever beside  her!  Lena  clung  to  his  hand.  She 
would  exchange  her  reign  of  fashion  for  the  king- 
dom of  love !  Some  fiend  whispered  in  her  ear, 
"Thirty  thousand!  Thirty  thousand!"  Lena 
withdrew  the  fingers  and  turned  her  white  face  to 
the  window.  The  horses  plunged  forward. 

"Good-bye!"  shouted  Rivers. 

"Good-bye,"  spoke  Lord  Howe  and  Edward 
simultaneously. 

382 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

There  were  tears  upon  a  white  face  pressed 
against  the  window  of  the  carriage. 

Edward  Reynolds  watched  the  carriage  until  it 
was  lost  in  the  distance,  while  the  names  of  two 
women  were  being  repeated  o'er  and  o'er:  Alice 
and  Lena!  Alice  and  Lena!  Despite  himself, 
despite  Lena's  loveliness,  he  felt  like  some  recidi- 
vist— guilty  of  twice  permitting  woman  to  enter 
his  thoughts. 

But  life  is  cheerless  without  a  fireside;  and  a 
fireside  is  cold  and  dreary  without  woman. 


383 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

The  Duke  of  Berwick  was  considered  one  of  the 
most  authentic  correspondents  of  the  Civil  War. 
The  representative  of  several  foreign  papers,  next 
to  Longdeville,  he  was  the  most  popular  among 
officers  and  army.  Heedless  of  risk  and  danger, 
he  invariably  made  his  way  to  those  vantage- 
grounds  where  observation  of  the  movements  of 
the  contending  armies  might  be  made  with  great- 
est accuracy  of  detail.  He  had  been  bronzed  to 
the  color  of  a  nut  during  his  four  years  of  camp 
life,  the  last  vestige  of  English  airs  having  long 
since  been  lost  to  sight  under  army  discipline. 
Englishmen  are  brave,  and  bravery  is  one  of  the 
strongest  ties  joining  men  in  the  inseparable 
bonds  of  a  common  brotherhood.  The  Duke  of 
Berwick's  previous  visit  to  the  States  had  been  im- 
providently  arranged  for  him,  upon  terms  and 
conditions  not  entirely  to  his  liking,  and,  conse- 
quently, was  not  as  pleasant  as  it  might  have  been 
under  more  agreeable  circumstances.  Whatever 
may  have  been  the  reason  for  his  second  visit,  it 
was,  at  least,  voluntary. 

Deep  in  his  heart  he  admitted  he  came  to  be 
near  Alice  Eldridge;  ostensibly,  it  was  as  the  cor- 
384 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

respondent  of  a  number  of  European  papers. 
Scarcely  a  month  had  elapsed,  from  the  time  he 
began  his  duties,  that  he  had  not  seen  and  talked 
with  Alice.  She  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  vol- 
unteer her  services  in  the  capacity  of  nurse  to  the 
Federal  Army.  Intensely  Union,  she  had  laid 
aside  pleasure  and  pursuits  of  vast  wealth  to  aid 
a  cause  in  which  she  so  devoutly  believed.  The 
interviews  between  these  two  had  been  frank  and 
unconventional.  In  fact,  many  a  pleasant  hour 
had  been  whiled  away  in  strolls  and  conversation, 
when  her  presence  at  the  hospital  was  in  less  ur- 
gent demand.  He  knew  it  was  a  brother's  place 
he  occupied  in  her  affections,  and  despaired  of 
ever  awakening  a  deeper  feeling.  Still,  she 
was  his  dream,  and  he  was  quite  content  to  be 
near  her.  During  these  four  years  he  had  left 
her  many  a  time  to  go  and  look  silently  at  a  sol- 
dier, the  soldier  known  among  his  regiment  as 
Achilles — Achilles,  always  at  the  forefront  in 
battle,  and  always  unscathed.  The  regiment  had 
given  him  this  name;  but  they  came  to  like  him, 
one  and  all.  At  first  he  did  not  mingle  with  them. 
His  life  was  quiet  and  retiring.  The  rough-and- 
ready  soldiers,  thinking  him  proud,  were  at  first 
prejudiced  against  him.  But  after  the  battles 
were  fought,  the  man,  with  a  scar  upon  his  neck 
and  cheek,  denied  himself  the  respite,  earned  by 
the  toil  of  battle,  and  lingered  among  the  wound- 
385 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ed,  saving  many  a  poor  fellow's  life  by  his  tireless 
efforts.  He  was  tender  as  a  woman,  unselfish  and 
brave,  and  the  prejudice  gave  way  imperceptibly 
to  a  feeling  of  reverence  and  respect. 

The  colonel  of  the  regiment  was  killed,  and  the 
soldiers  were  permitted  to  choose  his  successor. 
With  one  accord,  Achilles  was  chosen.  He 
thanked  the  boys  for  the  compliment,  and  assured 
them  that  he  should  endeavor  to  deserve  their  con- 
fidence. It  was  all  simply  done.  There  was  no 
elation,  no  change  of  conduct.  As  private  sol- 
dier, or  as  officer,  he  was  still  the  same.  Cool  and 
fearless,  the  soldiers  placed  unlimited  faith  in  him. 
In  less  than  six  months  his  regiment  became  known 
as  one  of  the  best-drilled  and  among  the  bravest 
in  the  service. 

The  Duke  of  Berwick  gazed  upon  this  man 
with  feelings  of  love  and  hate;  this  man  who  held 
the  heart  he  prized;  this  man,  whose  life  he  could 
not  comprehend,  was  loved  by  the  woman,  also, 
whom  he  loved,  but  could  not  comprehend.  In 
obedience  to  some  inexplicable  impulse,  he  followed 
in  the  wake  of  Edward  Reynolds.  He  was  on  the 
James  River,  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  Wher- 
ever Reynolds  went,  he  went.  It  was  fascination, 
or  fate ;  perhaps  both. 

"If  he  should  die,  would  she  come  to  me?" 
Night  after  night  he  would  ask  himself  this  ques- 
tion in  his  sleep.  "If  he  should  fall,  how  would 
386 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

it  affect  her?"  In  his  waking  hours  he  would  cast 
such  questions  from  him.  In  self-reproach  against 
such  guilty  thoughts,  he  increased  his  labors.  At 
last,  the  war  was  drawing  to  a  close.  The  man, 
whose  footsteps  he  had  seemed  to  haunt,  had  es- 
caped without  a  scratch. 

The  battle  of  the  Wilderness  was  in  progress. 
A  heavy  rain  the  night  before  delayed  the  dispo- 
sition of  the  Federal  Army,  and  active  hostilities 
were  not  commenced  until  late  in  the  day.  The 
Duke  of  Berwick,  note  book  in  hand,  stood  on  a 
slight  elevation  overlooking  the  field,  his  pencil 
moving  rapidly  over  a  paper  tablet  in  the  prepara- 
tion of  despatches. 

"In  the  valley  a  square  is  forming,"  writes  the 
correspondent,  glancing  from  the  plains  below  to 
the  white  blotter,  "protected,  by  the  slight  pro- 
jection of  a  small  hill,  from  the  enemy's  artillery. 
Lee  rests  upon  his  impregnable  position,  confident 
of  ability  to  retain  his  ground  against  any  assault 
that  may  be  hurled  against  him.  The  strategic 
importance  of  the  hill  commanding  the  valley,  and 
especially  the  plains,  which  the  Union  troops  are 
to  cross  in  order  to  attack  the  main  lines,  had  not 
been  realized  by  the  Federal  generals  until  after 
the  enemy  was  fully  entrenched  in  the  command- 
ing position.  Two  futile  attempts  have  already 
been  made  to  recover  the  hill,  each  effort  being  re- 
pulsed with  heavy  loss.  The  guns  from  the  moun- 
387 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

tain  peak  will  enfilade  the  Union  Army  as  it 
crosses  below;  hence,  at  whatever  hazard  and  sac- 
rifice to  life,  they  must  be  silenced.  Colonel 
Reynolds  has  been  intrusted  with  the  perilous 
commission  of  expelling  the  enemy,  and  turning 
the  guns  upon  their  present  possessors.  At  any 
rate,  he  is  to  engage  them  so  warmly  as  to  concen- 
trate the  fire  upon  himself,  while  the  main  army 
is  passing  over  the  plains  below. 

"The  generals  of  the  two  armies  may  be  seen 
riding  hither  and  thither,  quietly  giving  com- 
mands. Soon  the  storm  will  burst  in  all  the  splen- 
did fury  of  battle.  The  square,  commanded  by 
Reynolds,  moves  carefully  near  the  point  of  the 
mountain  and  swings  abruptly  to  the  left,  while 
the  eyes  of  the  soldiers  follow  the  direction  indi- 
cated by  the  sword  of  their  intrepid  leader.  These 
brave  men  must  cross  eighty  rods  of  meadow  land, 
subjected  to  the  fire  of  the  enemy,  without  offer- 
ing one  opposing  shot.  There  is  nothing  that 
tries  the  mettle  of  soldiers  like  being  subjected  to 
the  fire  of  the  enemy's  guns  without  permission 
to  return  the  compliment.  This  is  especially  true 
when  the  field  is  covered  with  the  dead  and  dying 
of  previous  assaults.  A  momentary  shelter  is  given 
the  soldiers,  when  the  base  of  the  mountain  is 
reached.  Reynolds  behaves  nicely  in  crossing  the 
meadow.  He  pauses  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  to  give 
the  men  a  few  moment's  rest.  Again  the  assault- 
388 


ing  column  begin  the  ascent.  Half-way  up  the 
mountain  is  a  plateau  commanded  by  the  rebel 
guns.  The  Blues  break  into  the  clearing,  and 
dash  across,  their  ranks  decimated  by  grapnel  and 
shot.  Here  a  steep  declivity  offers  them  another 
shelter  from  the  deadly  fire. 

"The  men  are  showing  fatigue.  Each  under- 
stands for  himself  that  the  trying  ordeal  is  yet  in 
store;  that  yonder,  where  the  last  four  hundred 
feet  must  be  traversed,  is  open  and  that  the  as- 
sault must  be  attended  with  fearful  carnage. 
Reynolds  is  as  calm  as  though  on  dress  parade. 
While  crossing  this  last  few  hundred  feet  the  main 
army  will  emerge  and  engage  the  enemy  gener- 
ally. One  solitary  gun  is  fired.  It  is  the  signal 
to  advance. 

"  'Charge,  and  fire  as  you  charge,'  commands 
Reynolds,  leading  the  way.  The  soldiers  dash 
into  the  clearing,  their  appearance  being  welcomed 
by  a  fusilade  of  shot  and  shell.  The  boom  of 
cannon  reverberates  among  the  hills.  Men  drop, 
but  there  is  no  seeming  check.  Again  and  again 
those  guns  ring  forth  their  peal  of  death;  again 
and  again  the  gaps  close  up ;  but  one-third  of  the 
men  are  back  there  on  the  plain  and  the  plateau. 
Reynolds  moves  among  his  followers  inspiring 
them  by  words  and  actions. 

"The  standard-bearer  drops;  another  seizes  the 
banner,  bears  it  a  few  feet  forward,  and  falls. 
389 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

Five  hundred  infantry  rise  and  pour  a  murderous 
hail  of  lead  into  the  advancing  soldiers.  That 
awful  fire  sways  and  staggers  the  lines.  No  valor 
can  face  such  a  storm  of  death.  They  waver. 

"  'Charge  bayonets !'  rings  the  clarion  voice  of 
Reynolds,  and,  seizing  the  standard,  he  springs 
forward  in  full  view  of  his  followers,  mounts  the 
embankment,  waving  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  In  a 
moment,  the  soldiers  crowd  around  him,  and  the 
clangor  of  swords  and  bayonets  rises  above  the 
groans  of  the  dying. 

"Twice  hurled  back,  thrice  on  top  the  ramparts 
with  a  wall  of  dead  between  the  combatants.  A 
cry  splits  the  heavens.  It  is  the  shout  of  victory! 
The  enemy  has  broken!  At  this  moment  Reyn- 
olds, still  holding  the  banner,  staggers,  slips  from 
the  earth  embankment,  and  falls  to  the  ground, 
the  folds  of  the  Flag  winding  about  him.  His 
trusty  aids  are  bending  over  him. 

"  'It  is  Achilles— Reynolds !" 

The  tablet  dropped  from  the  writer's  fingers. 
What  he  had  secretly  hoped,  or  secretly  feared, 
had  come  to  pass.  The  Duke  of  Berwick  leaned 
against  an  oak,  oblivious  of  his  surroundings. 
Thousands  of  cavalry  dashed  past  him,  but  he 
heeded  them  not.  Upon  the  plains  below  a  de- 
moralized army  was  in  full  retreat,  but  the  tablet 
still  lay  upon  the  ground  at  his  feet.  He  took 
heed  neither  of  time  nor  of  battle. 
390 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

At  last,  Alice  is  his.  Omnipotence  has  taken 
the  matter  in  charge,  and  decreed  in  his  favor. 

"Dead!"  he  repeated,  with  cold,  white  lips. 
"Dead!  She  loves  him,  but  he  is  dead.  I  saw 
him  fall  back  there." 

He  turned  and  mechanically  advanced  some 
paces  down  the  hill. 

"She  loves  him.  He  dies;  she  is  free.  My 
hands  are  innocent  of  his  blood."  He  continued 
down  the  hillside,  picking  his  way  among  the  rock 
and  the  stubble.  "She  loves  him." 

"MURDERER  !" 

The  lips  of  the  dying  men  seem  to  breathe  the 
accusation  against  him.  The  words  greet  him  in 
the  shouts,  the  confusion,  the  chaos  from  the 
plains  below. 

"MURDERER  !" 

The  sparks,  flying  from  the  hoofs  of  galloping 
horses,  were  formed  in  the  awful  word.  He 
pressed  his  hands  against  his  temples. 

"She  loves  him.  Murderer,  in  the  greatness  of 
her  heart,  read  the  baseness  of  thine."  With  the 
swiftness  of  thought,  he  rushed  back. 

"Reynolds!"  he  shouted,  "Reynolds!" 

He  ran,  peering  into  the  faces  of  the  dead  and 
dying.  Nearer  came  the  sound  of  horses'  feet, 
that  would  trample  upon  the  dead  and  crush  the 
wounded. 

He  turned  over  the  faces  of  the  dead  and  looked! 
391 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

at  them  in  the  uncertain  light.  Someone  moaned. 
The  searcher  hastened  toward  the  sound,  and  tore 
the  flag  from  the  form — peered  into  the  face — 
shuddered.  Without  a  word,  he  raised  the  wound- 
ed man  in  his  arms  and  fled. 

He  was  ever  moving.  On,  on!  "She  loves 
him!" 

His  arms  were  numb,  and  he  staggered  under 
the  weight  of  the  burden.  Once,  in  the  night, 
Reynolds  rallied  and  begged  for  water.  A  can- 
teen had  been  placed  to  his  lips,  and  the  last  drop 
drained.  The  first  gray  streaks  of  morning 
were  lifting  the  pall  of  darkness  from  the  earth, 
when  a  man,  bearing  a  dead  or  wounded  comrade, 
reeled  against  the  door  of  the  Union  hospital. 

"What  is  wanted?"  asked  a  sweet  voice  from 
within. 

The  man's  lips  and  throat  were  parched,  and  he 
spoke,  or  gasped  in  gutterals,  resembling  no 
known  language.  The  door  opened,  and  Alice, 
raising  a  lighted  candle  above  her  head,  gazed  in 
horror  at  the  faces  of  the  two  men. 

"It — is — he !     Water — wa — ter !" 

The  Duke  of  Berwick  had  borne  Edward  Reyn- 
olds five  miles  over  rocks,  across  gullies  and  ra- 
vines, through  tangles  of  vines  and  underbrush 
to  lay  him  at  the  feet  of  the  woman  they  both 
loved. 


392 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"Well,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  surgeon,  dropping 
the  arm  he  had  just  been  examining,  "I  call  that 
a  good  job.  Do  you  know,  I  wouldn't  have  given 
you  a  shin-plaster  for  that  arm,"  indicating  the 
member  referred  to,  "upon  the  morning  that  news- 
paper chap  deposited  you  on  the  hospital  floor." 

"Opinions  differ  as  to  values.  It  is  far  better 
than  no  arm,"  replied  Reynolds,  swinging  it  care- 
fully. 

"  'Better  than  no  arm' !  Guess  it  is.  It  will  fill 
a  coat-sleeve  yet,"  commented  the  surgeon.  "It 
was  a  close  shave,  though.  We  had  the  tools 
ready  to  do  some  amputating,  when  that  nurse  ap- 
peared. Jingo!  But  she  is  a  woman,  I  tell  you! 
You  see,  you  had  bled  pretty  nearly  to  death,  be- 
sides being  hauled  about  all  night  on  the  back  of 
that  press  fellow,  before  we  made  your  acquaint- 
ance. We  weren't  in  the  best  of  humor,  not  hav- 
ing been  asleep  over  an  hour  when  dragged  out, 
and  were  not  standing  much  on  ceremony.  In  less 
than  a  trice,  we  saw  what  there  was  to  be  seen,  and 
were  putting  the  shirt  back,  when  she  walked  in 
and  interfered  with  the  plans.  Of  course,  she 
knew  what  we  were  up  to. 
393 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"  'Gentlemen,'  says  she  resolutely,  'that  arm  can 
be  saved.' 

"  'I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,'  says  the  operat- 
ing surgeon,  dipping  the  knife  into  the  antiseptic 
bath. 

"  'Gentlemen,'  she  repeats,  'that  arm  must  be 
saved.' 

"Well,  the  old  surgeon  looked  at  her,  and  I  be- 
gan to  fumble  around  in  the  bullet-hole  among 
the  broken  bones,  awaiting  developments. 

"  'Let  me  see,'  says  she.  And  she  took  a  long 
look  at  the  horrible  wound,  turning  paler  than  a 
ghost.  'I  wish  a  word  with  you  in  private,'  says 
she  to  my  superior,  leading  him  aside. 

"After  a  bit  they  came  back,  and  we  went  at 
our  work.  But  your  arm  is  there,  thanks  to  that 
nurse,  and  a  more  skilful  job  was  never  done  in 
the  service.  A  month  later  my  superior  shoved  a 
purse,  containing  a  thousand  gold  dollars  into 
my  fist. 

"'Eh?'  says  I. 

"  'It's  all  right,'  says  ne ;  *we  earned  it.'  And 
"we  did,  too.  One  or  the  other  of  us  stood  over 
you  for  the  next  ten  days." 

"Do  you  know  what  amount  the  nurse  paid?" 
inquired  Reynolds,  looking  dreamily  out  of  the 
•window  at  the  distant  hills. 

"He  never  reported.     He's  close  as  an  oyster, 
that  sly  fellow!     Loves  money  to  beat  the  cars, 
394 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

but  clever  with  the  instruments — mighty  clever. 
His  like  isn't  in  the  service." 

"Can  you  learn  what  he  received?  Work  upon 
his  cupidity.  Tell  him  I'll  double  it,"  suggested 
Reynolds. 

"Perhaps,  I'll  see.  Good-bye.  Move  the  arm 
a  little,  off  and  on ;  it  will  do  it  good.  May  hurt 
a  trifle  at  first,  but  keep  it  up  several  times  a  day." 

"Never  mind,  I'll  follow  instructions.  Say, 
you'll  find  out,  won't  you?" 

"It  depends.  Good-bye,"  and  the  assistant 
darted  away  on  the  round  of  his  visits. 

"So  I  am  to  thank  Alice  for  this,  such  as  it  is," 
mused  Edward.  "I  must  refund  the  money  to 
her." 

He  remembered  how  she  had  come  to  sit  by  him, 
during  those  critical  days  when  he  was  too  weak  to 
speak.  He  remembered  how,  as  she  sat  by  his 
couch,  he  had  tried  to  find  the  face  of  the  happy 
girl  in  the  sweet,  sad  one  of  the  woman  that 
watched  o'er  him  those  days  when  the  surgeon 
came  so  often  to  his  bedside.  Even  the  voice  was 
changed.  It  was  lower  and  more  musical.  But 
the  happy  laugh,  the  light-hearted,  merry  laugh, 
that  fell  in  the  olden  days  in  ripples  from  those 
lips,  had  departed,  leaving  only  the  trace  of  a 
smile  that  went  with  every  word  or  whisper.  Yet, 
he  had  thought  the  brow  clearer  and  whiter,  the 
eyes  deeper  and  purer,  and  the  golden  hair,  of 
395 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

which  he  had  been  so  proud,  still  waved,  as  it  was 
wont  to  do,  about  the  temples  of  that  regal  head. 
He  had  remembered  of  wondering,  too,  if  it  ever 
occurred  to  her  that  it  was  she  who  had  robbed  him 
of  life's  greatest  happiness,  and  if  in  her  heart 
she  had  no  regret,  no  remorse  for  what  she  had 
done.  Then  came  the  long,  wretched  days  when 
she  did  not  come.  And,  finally,  he  had  asked  for 
the  nurse,  for  Alice,  and  they  had  answered  him 
that  she  had  gone  away;  that  she  had  asked  to  be 
transferred.  He  remembered  how  tired  he  was  of 
life,  and  how  he  had  wished,  as  he  lay  there  day 
after  day,  gazing  at  the  chair  where  she  had  sat, 
that  the  piece  of  shell  had  found  his  heart  instead 
of  his  arm.  It  was  doubly  hard  to  bear — the 
thought  that  the  Duke  of  Berwick  had  saved  his 
life,  and  Alice  had  saved  his  arm.  If  they  only 
knew  how  little  he  prized  the  salvage  they  had 
rescued!  Of  all  the  men  in  the  world,  that  the 
Duke  of  Berwick  should  have  carried  him  about 
that  hideous  night !  He  was  in  honor  bound !  It 
was  best  she  had  gone.  Still,  he  must  return  the 
money.  So  the  days  and  weeks  went  by,  and  he 
was  strong  upon  his  feet  again.  A  furlough  was 
placed  in  his  hands,  and  the  surgeon  told  him  to 
go  to  Boston  or  New  York  until  he  recuperated. 
They  would  not  take  him  back  into  the  service, 
where  he  begged  to  go,  and  at  last  he  was  on  his 
way  to  the  Metropolis.  Time  dragged  heavily 
396 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

upon  his  hands.  He  moped  about  objectless, 
hopeless.  One  day  he  met  a  brother  officer,  who, 
like  himself,  was  laid  up  for  repairs. 

"What  do  you  do  to  amuse  yourself?"  asked  his 
acquaintance. 

"Nothing,"  replied  Reynolds. 

"Take  in  the  theater,  of  course?" 

"Once  or  twice." 

"Booth  is  billed  to-night.     Let's  go." 

"Very  well." 

The  following  day  they  were  walking  along 
Wall  Street.  A  crowd  of  men  were  standing  be- 
fore the  Stock  Exchange. 

"Ever  speculate?"  asked  the  friend. 

"Never  have." 

"Let's  go  in  and  look  around." 

"Very  well." 

Two  hours  after,  Edward  Reynolds  had  lost 
five  hundred  dollars.  Twenty  minutes  later,  he 
had  forgotten  the  circumstance  entirely.  A  week 
afterwards,  he  was  passing,  alone,  and  recognized 
the  place.  He  stopped,  went  in  and  made  five 
hundred.  He  was  even  and  would  quit  gambling. 
He  wrote  asking  to  be  taken  back  into  the  ser- 
vice and  received  a  reply  to  report  six  weeks 
hence.  That  message  was  received  the  27th  day 
of  February,  1865.  He  had  met  no  one  he  knew, 
save  the  brother  officer,  who  was  only  in  the  city 
a  day  or  two.  He  had  no  appetite.  Instead  of 
397 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

improving,  he  was  in  a  steady  decline.  Ah,  well, 
he  would  visit  Wall  Street  again.  He,  at  least, 
had  forgotten  while  there.  He  cleared  five  hun- 
dred on  the  stocks  of  one  road,  lost  five  hundred 
on  another.  As  he  walked  away  the  confusion 
and  excitement  clung  to  him  tenaciously.  For 
the  first  time,  that  night  he  began  to  think  it  over. 
It  was  a  diversion.  It  was  forgetfulness,  and  he 
would  purchase  that  forgetfulness  for  the  one 
Jionth,  until  he  joined  his  regiment,  let  it  cost  him 
what  it  may.  Afterwards,  he  went  regularly  to 
the  'Change,  his  rather  tall,  athletic  figure  becom- 
ing familiar  to  the  habitues.  He  developed  into 
a  genius,  winning  day  after  day.  Hundreds  at 
first,  thousands,  and  then  tens  of  thousands.  For- 
tunatus  seemed  to  stand  at  his  elbow.  His  opera- 
tions became  prodigious.  He  was  in  the  Stock 
Exchange,  where  fortunes  are  made  and  lost  in  a 
single  day,  when  the  door  suddenly  burst  open, 
and  a  shout  rang  out,  electrifying  the  inmates, 

"LEE   HAS  SURRENDERED  !" 

That  night  he  was  a  multi-millionaire.  He  felt 
no  remorse,  no  regret.  He  had  found  the  key  ad- 
mitting of  retreat  from  his  own  gloomy  thoughts. 
When  he  closed  that  door,  the  shadows  were  locked 
without.  He  had  no  plans  for  the  future.  His 
life  was  without  object.  It  had  never  occurred  to 
him  that  he  was  gambling;  never  entered  his  mind 
that  other  men  were  ruined  by  his  success. 
398 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

One  morning  he  heard  the  members  talking 
upon  entering  the  building. 

"Sad  about  Charley,"  said  one. 

"He  was  as  clever  and  whole-souled  a  fellow  as 
ever  lived,"  replied  another. 

"Poor  Charley!  He  passed  me  upon  leaving 
the  Exchange,  talking  to  someone  gayly.  I  knew 
he  had  lost  heavily,  and  wondered  at  his  cheerful- 
ness." 

"They  say  his  mother  and  sister  are  nearly 
frantic  with  grief.  They  were  dependent  upon 
him.  Sad  affair!  The  bullet  went  straight 
through  his  heart.  I  was  in  a  moment  to  look  at 
him.  You  could  almost  expect  him  to  smile  and 
speak  to  you.  Poor  Charley!" 

"He  was  ruined  by  the  South  Western?  We 
were  all  pinched  and  squeezed  more  or  less.  It 
was  another  of  the  schemes  of " 

The  speaker,  glancing  up,  saw  Reynolds  listen- 
ing to  the  conversation,  and  stopped  suddenly. 
The  other  looked  about  to  learn  the  cause  of  in- 
terruption, when  the  two  men  walked  away. 

A  man  had  committed  suicide.  There  was 
nothing  uncommon  or  startling  about  that  cir- 
cumstance in  itself.  The  papers  are  picked  up 
scarcely  a  morning  without  reading,  in  glaring 
headlines,  one  or  more  suicides.  In  some  cities 
there  are  felo  de  se  clubs.  Self-destruction  is 
quite  a  fad.  Reynolds  watched  the  two  men  mov- 
399 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 

ing  awaj'.  He  had  done  nothing  underhanded; 
abused  no  one's  confidence;  betrayed  no  trust. 
Why  should  they  blame  him  for  Charley's  death? 
He  remembered  Charley  well,  and  had  liked  his 
frank,  open  face.  But,  then,  everybody  liked 
Charley.  He  had  such  a  super-abundance  of  vi- 
tality and  magnetism.  Others  walked  past  him, 
talking  of  Charley,  one  repeating  the  words  to 
which  he  had  listened  before,  "The  bullet  went 
straight  through  his  heart." 

Reynolds  changed  his  mind.  He  would  return 
to  his  rooms.  As  he  leisurely  wheeled  about, 
someone  staggered  against  him. 

"Beg  pardon,"  said  the  man  mechanically, 
making  a  wider  detour. 

"Why,  halloo,  Freeman,"  exclaimed  Reynolds, 
his  face  brightening. 

The  man  addressed  was  the  subordinate  sur- 
geon, who  had  assisted  in  the  operation  upon  his 
arm. 

"Beg  pardon,"  repeated  the  man  vacantly,  star- 
ing at  Reynolds  in  a  blank  and  dazed  way,  renew- 
ing his  efforts  to  pass. 

"Don't  you  remember  me?"  inquired  Reynolds. 

The  physician  looked  fixedly  at  the  questioner, 
without  either  intelligence  or  recognition. 

"I  am  Reynolds,  the  one  whose  arm  you  saved." 

There  was  something  in  the  word  Reynolds  that 
seemed  to  rouse  the  surgeon  from  his  apathy,  and 
400 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

he  began  to  look  at  the  possessor  of  that  name 
with  a  new  light  shining  in  his  eyes. 

"So  you  are  the  man  who  ruined  me?  Well, 
it's  all  in  the  game.  I  cherish  no  resentment. 
We  are  all  here  for  that  purpose.  It's  hell — this 
place!  You  picked  me  clean  off  my  feet.  I 
haven't  a  dollar  in  the  world — Maggie's  money 
and  all.  If  I  had  taken  the  poor  girl's  advice!" 

Edward  Reynolds  began  to  see  himself  in  a  new 
light. 

"How  great  are  your  losses?"  asked  Reyn- 
olds. 

"Ten  thousand,  Maggie's  three  thousand — thir- 
teen thousand.  Men  like  you,  sir,  only  increase 
the  distemper  among  the  less  fortunate.  You 
make  money — we  learn  of  it,  and  bring  our  mite 
to  the  board  and  speculate.  We  see  it  disappear, 
and  hope  to  retrench,  and  plunge  deeper  into  the 
vortex.  Someone  arouses  us  with  the  sorcerer's 
word,  'ruined.'  Then  a  new  light  begins  to  shine 
upon  the  situation.  We  see  some  master  hand 
laying  the  lines  and  standing  over  the  net,  where 
we  little  fish  are  struggling.  But,  I  repeat,  sir,  I 
hold  no  grudge,"  once  more  trying  to  pass. 

"Swear  to  me  that  you  will  never  again  visit 
this  place,  and  I  will  put  you  in  a  way  to  recover." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Go  back,  buy  Pennsylvania  and  Erie  up  to 
ninety-six.  Buy  everything  in  sight.  Wire  your 
401 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

brokers  in  Washington  and  Boston  to  do  likewise. 
Draw  on  me." 

Freeman  was  wondering.  "Why,  sir,"  said  he, 
"the  Pennsylvania  is  short.  No  one  is  looking 
that  way." 

"Do  as  I  say,"  repeated  Reynolds;  "but  first, 
swear  this  day  is  the  last." 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  I  will  never 
place  my  foot  within  the  pit  after  to-day." 

"Very  well,  go.     I  am  at  my  room." 

Reynolds  walked  away  slowly.  Later  in  the 
day  he  ordered  a  carriage  and  drove  out  in  the 
country.  He  could  not  dispel  the  thought  of 
his  responsibility  in  the  sad  death  of  the 
suicide.  Some  laborers  were  gathering  roots  on 
a  truck  farm.  He  stopped  and  watched  them  at 
their  labor.  Then  he  got  out  of  the  buggy  and, 
tying  his  horse,  joined  the  workmen. 

"Your  vegetables  are  looking  nicely."  He 
spoke  cheerfully. 

"It's  a  bountiful  harvest,  but  prices  are  dull; 
that  is,  it's  a  slow  way  of  making  money." 

"Well,  you  look  happy." 

"Oh,  yes,  if  it  is  a  slow  way  of  making  money, 
sir,"  repeated  the  owner,  "it  is  honest.  We  rob 
and  ruin  no  one.  No  deaths  at  our  door.  See  the 
crape  yonder?"  pointing  at  a  house  some  twenty 
rods  distant.  "Charley  Kline  killed  himself  last 
night.  That  was  his  father's  farm  on  the  other 
402 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

side  of  the  road,  and  his  mother  and  sister  live 
there,  where  we  see  the  crape.  They  say  a  fellow 
by  the  name  of  Reynolds  did  the  job.  A  fellow 
with  a  scarred — ah !  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  for  the 
first  time  noticing  the  neck  and  cheek  of  the  stran- 
ger; "meant  no  offense."  But  the  apology  was 
lost  on  the  man  for  whom  it  was  intended. 

"He's   a   funny   duck,"   commented  the  truck- 
grower  to  his  companions.     "Guess  he  has  forgot- 
ten something,  by  the  way  he  is  going  back." 
"Looks  that  way,"  admitted  one  of  them. 
"I  pretty  nearly  got  my  foot  in  it  about  the 
scar." 

"Well,  he  did  turn  color." 
"Did  you  notice  his  cheek  and  neck?" 
"Yes;  he  must  be  dreadful  sensitive." 
"I  was  sorry,  but  they  do  say  that  'Reynolds' 
is  a  devil." 

Reynolds  hastened  back  to  his  rooms.  There 
was  one  burden  upon  his  mind — to  make  restitu- 
tion— to  undo  the  wrong  he  had  done.  He  would 
have  parted  with  every  dollar  he  possessed  if  he 
could  have  restored  life  to  that  dead  man.  It  was 
monstrous,  the  life  he  had  been  living.  And  yet, 
he  was  innocent.  He  had  simply  purchased  for- 
getfulness.  He  had  not  dreamed,  much  less 
thought,  that  his  actions  meant  ruin,  misery,  and 
death  to  others;  that  he  had  left  victims,  not  only 
with  smoking  revolvers  in  their  hands,  but  broken 
403 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

homes,  and  broken  hearts  in  rural  districts,  with 
crape  clinging  to  the  doors.  His  life  for  the  last 
few  months  stood  before  him  in  bold  relief.  And, 
as  he  analyzed  his  feelings,  as  he  searched  for  the 
cause  of  his  conduct,  he  half  fancied  that  he  heard 
a  woman's  words,  "Make  another  fortune,  you  can 
do  it." 


404 


EDWARD  REYNOLDS 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Edward  Reynolds,  after  an  absence  of  fifteen 
years,  was  once  more  in  the  city  of  his  birth.  He 
half  expected  to  meet,  running  to  welcome  him, 
the  boys  with  whom  he  had  parted  many  years 
ago.  Boys  long  since  grown  to  be  busy,  active 
members  of  the  professions  and  commercial  world. 
Even  the  city  had  changed.  He  walked  the 
length  of  Market  Street,  peering  into  the  faces  of 
pedestrians,  trying  to  recognize  some  friend  of  his 
boyhood.  Once  or  twice  he  fancied  he  saw  famil- 
iar features,  to  be  disappointed  by  closer  scrutiny, 
while  the  name  of  some  boy  was  held  back  from 
the  half -opened  lips. 

It  is  sad  to  come  home  and  no  one  to  welcome 
us.  Sad  to  hold  in  sacred  memory  the  home  of 
our  childhood,  to  return  and  find  none  but  stran- 
gers. No  one  is  entirely  cosmopolitan.  Edward 
went  to  the  cemetery  and  stood  with  uncovered 
head  at  the  graves  of  his  father  and  mother. 
Fresh  flowers  had  been  placed  in  the  marble  urn 
by  someone,  while  two  rose-bushes,  growing  upon 
either  side  of  the  mounds,  were  in  white  blossom. 
They  had  been  placed  there  by  loving  hands — 
whose?  Someone  remembered,  even  though  the 
405 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

son  had  forgotten.  It  was,  undoubtedly,  the  St. 
Clairs,  and  he  would  not  forget  to  thank  them. 
After  passing  some  hours  by  these  silent  resting- 
places,  he  thoughtfully  returned  to  the  city.  Then 
he  went  out  upon  the  street  again  and  walked 
among  the  crowd,  until  he  reached  Ninth  Street, 
when,  turning  to  the  right,  he  continued  to  Ridge 
Avenue,  which  he  followed  to  Broad.  The  long 
walk  did  him  good.  He  was  nearing  his  father's 
house;  across  the  street,  in  fact,  was  the  residence 
of  the  Richardses.  How  natural  it  looked  in  the 
gathering  twilight!  He  stood  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street,  making  mental  note  of  the  doors 
and  windows,  of  the  polished  columns,  the  trees, 
the  lawn,  and  the  vines.  All  were  the  same  he 
held  in  memory.  That  house  was,  in  a  sense,  the 
first  familiar  face  he  had  met.  And  the  doors, 
and  the  windows,  and  the  polished  columns,  the 
trees,  the  lawn  and  vines,  seemed  to  be  greeting 
him  through  the  departed  years.  Even  the 
marble  steps  were  the  same — the  steps  his  feet  had 
mounted  hundreds  of  times  to  meet  Alice,  when  his 
heart  was  young  and  hopeful. 

At  last  he  stood  before  the  home  of  his  child- 
hood. He  was  born  in  that  big  house.  The  hap- 
piest days  of  his  life  were  passed  under  that  roof. 
The  laughter  of  children  was  welcoming  him.  Al- 
ready the  building  was  illuminated  with  blazing 
lights.  He  half  expected  to  see  his  father  and 
406 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

mother  moving  about  in  the  brilliantly  lighted 
rooms.  A  happy,  girlish  voice  called  the  chil- 
dren, and  then,  swinging  into  view,  came  the 
merry  group  with  clasped  hands,  rollicking  across 
the  piazza. 

"Be  careful,  children,  and  not  fall,"  some  one 
admonished  from  within,  sounding  much  as 
a  voice  he  remembered  long  ago.  It  was  some- 
one's else  home.  His  approach  would  blight  the 
mirth  and  the  gladness  issuing  from  the  laughing 
throats.  He  was  seized  with  a  sudden  desire  to 
escape.  He  should  break  down  upon  crossing  the 
threshold.  The  wanderer  turned  and  walked 
away  swiftly,  with  a  mist  dimming  his  sight. 
Another  burst  of  merriment  from  the  little  folk 
added  speed  to  his  steps.  Oh!  there  is  something 
so  unspeakably  sad  and  cruel  in  being  chased  from 
one's  own  home  by  the  laughter  of  unknown  chil- 
dren; something  so  unspeakably  pitiful  in  having 
neither  kith  nor  kin  in  the  whole  wide  world. 

He  returned  to  his  hotel  and  sought  his  room, 
assuring  himself  that  on  the  morrow  he  would  have 
more  courage,  and  should  go  back  and  meet  the 
St.  Clairs,  visit  the  old  familiar  rooms  once  more, 
linger  among  the  grounds,  and  then — well,  then, 
away  towards  England. 

It  was  late  the  following  morning  when  Ed- 
ward awoke,  after  a  restless  night.  There  were 
three  things  he  had  planned  to  do:  First,  to  visit 
407 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

the  St.  Clairs;  second,  to  make  provision  for  the 
mother  and  sister  of  Charley  Kline ;  and  third,  and 
last,  to  return  to  Alice  the  sum  she  had  paid  the 
army  surgeons.  He  would  execute  the  plan  in 
the  order  named.  True,  there  was  no  great  haste ; 
any  time  during  the  day  would  answer.  It  was 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  before  he  found 
himself  preparing  to  set  forth. 

The  hotel  clerk  entered  the  room  with  a  couple 
of  letters,  and  withdrew.  Each  bore  a  foreign 
postmark.  He  opened  the  smaller  one  and 
glanced  at  the  superscription.  It  was  from  Miss 
Rivers. 

"Five  long  years,"  he  read,  "since  I  have  heard 
from  you.  I  more  than  half  begin  to  think  I 
never  may  have  heard  but  for  the  return  of  the 
Duke  of  Berwick.  He  called  last  evening,  great- 
ly improved  in  appearance.  He  tells  me  you  have 
cleared  millions  in  the  Stock  Exchange,  whatever 
that  may  be.  I  cannot  forego  the  pleasure  of 
sending  congratulations. 

"When  shall  you  come  to  England?  The  duke 
says  you  are  the  hero  of  many  a  battlefield,  quite 
equal  to  the  fables  of  King  Arthur's  Round  Table. 
I  always  knew  you  were  brave,  and  may  I  not  feel 
proud  of  deeds  that  have  endeared  you  to  your 
countrymen  ? 

"Papa  was  delighted  to  learn  of  your  rapid 
408 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

fame  and  prosperity.     Perhaps  papa  and  I  shall 
visit  America  in  a  few  months.     Write  me. 
"As  ever, 

"LENA  RIVERS." 

"P.  S. — The  duke  hints  of  a  marriage  to  take 
place  soon  in  America.  He  would  not  tell  me  the 
particulars.  It  is  his  own,  of  course." 

The  reader  held  the  letter  a  long  time  in  his 
hand,  pondering  its  contents.  Then,  picking  up 
the  large  envelope  and  seeing  the  armorial  crest 
of  the  Howes,  he  broke  the  seal,  finding  another 
envelope  and  a  note.  On  the  enclosed  envelope 
was  written,  in  the  well-remembered  handwriting 
of  his  departed  friend:  "To  be  delivered  to  Ed- 
ward Reynolds  after  my  death." 

The  contents  of  the  note  were  as  follows : 

"To  Edward  Reynolds. 

"Esteemed  Sir: — In  making  some  disposition 
of  my  private  papers  this  A.  M.,  preparatory  to 
an  extended  absence  from  England,  I  found  the 
accompanying  envelope  accidentally.  I  cannot 
explain  how  it  has  escaped  previous  discovery.  I 
deeply  regret  that  the  package  has  been  misplaced 
and  overlooked,  and  hope  that  no  inconvenience 
shall  have  resulted  to  you  in  consequence  of  the 
delay.  If  there  is  anything  I  am  directed  to  do 
in  the  letter,  you  can  write  Mudge  &  Co.,  Barris- 
409 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

ters,  London,  and  they  will  communicate  with  me. 
when  I  shall  endeavor  to  act  with  such  prompt- 
ness as  to  repair  in  a  measure  the  unfortunate  and 
greatly  regretted  delay  of  my  grandfather's  re- 
quest. "Your  obedient  servant, 

"LORD  ROYAL  HOWE." 

Then  opening  the  other  letter  he  read : 

"My  Dear  Son  Edward: — An  old  man  may; 
thus  be  indulged  to  address  one  in  whom  he  en- 
joys the  affections  of  such  a  relation,  without  fear 
of  giving  affront.  You  will  think  this  post-mor- 
tem communication  a  strange  one,  undoubtedly. 
Still,  as  you  proceed,  you  will  find  ample  reasons 
for  its  delivery. 

"I  learned  your  sentiments  toward  Alice  El- 
dridge  while  in  America.  Much  in  your  life,  for 
which  I  had  not  been  able  to  account,  was  cleared 
up  by  that  discovery.  I  sympathized  with  you 
very  deeply,  without  intruding  upon  your  pri- 
vacy. I  even  brought  about  your  meeting  with 
Miss  Rivers,  hoping  that  her  beauty  and  goodness 
would  lure  your  heart  from  its  unhappiness.  But 
I  had  my  labor  for  my  pains. 

"My  dear  Edward,  you  love  the  most  incompar- 
able woman  of  the  world.  There  are  none  like 
her — none;  and  she  loves  you.  She  has  always 
loved  you.  I  was  blind,  too,  and  twitted  her  of 
ruining  your  lif e.  You  remember  the  clipping 
410 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

with  dark  spots.  Those  stains  were  made  by  blood 
from  wounds  I  mercilessly  inflicted  in  her  true, 
noble  heart.  When  you  were  sick  in  Switzerland, 
Alice,  her  father,  mother,  and  Countess  Ratcliff 
took  shelter  in  the  house  of  Landowner  Bonner, 
where  you  were  confined.  She  learned  of  your 
presence  there,  and  that  the  doctors  had  given  you 
up  to  die.  I  saw  her  kneeling  by  your  bed,  pour- 
ing out  her  heart  to  your  deaf  ears,  and  begging 
forgiveness.  Then  the  London  doctor  came. 
Your  life  depended  upon  the  operation  of  vene- 
section. The  man,  brought  from  the  city  for  the 
purpose,  failed  at  the  last  moment;  but  I  did  not 
know  it,  until,  entering  your  room,  I  saw  the  blood 
flowing  from  her  body  into  yours — your  right 
arm  and  her  left  one  lying  side  by  side,  connected 
with  a  tube  through  which  the  life-blood  was  pass- 
ing. You  began  to  improve  at  once,  and  the  fol- 
lowing day  but  one  they  went  away.  But  she 
bribed  the  nurse  and  made  me  swear  that  I  would 
never  tell  you  while  I  lived.  Death  relieves  me  of 
my  promise,  and  I  am  resolved  you  shall  know.  She 
thinks  that  your  happiness  depends  upon  silence. 
"She  broke  faith  with  you  once,  but  I  tell  you 
she  loves  you,  has  always  loved  you!  I  heard 
her  confess  it,  as  she  knelt  by  your  side,  when  she 
believed  you  were  dying.  As  you  were  delirious, 
you  made  her  wear  the  old  engagement-ring,  and 
would  take  no  medicine  or  nourishment  for  three 
411 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

long  weeks  except  from  her  hand.  You  lavished 
upon  her  the  incoherent  wealth  of  your  heart,  and 
she,  so  white  and  faint  under  the  lash  and  stripes 
of  the  torture.  If  you  are  married  upon  receiv- 
ing this,  burn  the  letter;  if  you  are  free  and  love 
her  still,  I  shall  sleep  more  peacefully  in  the  grave, 
if  the  dead  are  permitted  to  have  knowledge  of  the 
living,  in  knowing  that  the  truest  woman  of  the 
world,  whose  heart  is  imbued  with  the  gifts  of 
angels,  is  united  with  the  one  man  whom  she  has 
ever  honored  with  her  love. 

"LORD  ALFRED  HOWE." 

Great  drops  of  perspiration  formed  upon  his 
forehead  as  he  continued  to  read.  Slowly  he 
picked  up  the  other  one,  his  white  lips  reading 
aloud  the  postscript:  "The  duke  hints  of  a  mar- 
riage soon  to  take  place  in  America.  He  would  not 
tell  me  the  particulars.  It  is  his  own,  of  course." 

Edward  rose  and  pushed  the  hair  back  from  his 
brow.  There  was  a  look  in  those  eyes  that  must  have 
been  a  triumph  for  the  fiends  of  hell  to  behold. 
He  cast  off  his  coat  and  cuffs,  and  pulled  back  his 
shirt-sleeve,  and  stared  at  the  scar  below  the  elbow. 

"It  was  she  I  saw  that  night  with  the  lamp.  It 
was  Alice,  my  life!  my  love!" 

Then  he  raised  the  other  sleeve  to  the  shoulder 
and  looked  hard  at  the  fresher  scars  made  by  the 
fragment  of  shell  and  the  surgeon's  knives. 
412 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Great  God!"  he  breathed,  "I  need  them  both: 
one,  to  remind  me  of  Alice,  and  the  other,  of  the 
man  that  bore  my  insensible  weight  about  that 
awful  night.  By  God !  the  Duke  of  Berwick  shall 
never  have  cause  to  regret  that  noble  act,  little  as 
I  have  to  thank  him  for  it.  There  is  strength  in 
those  two  scars  to  reconcile  me  to  my  future 
life." 

He  would  go  and  pass  one  single  hour  in 
the  shade  of  the  trees  of  the  old  home.  That 
would  be  enough.  He  could  enter  from  the  rear 
unobserved.  No  one  would  see  him.  He  would 
sit  in  the  seat  where  his  father  and  mother  had  sat 
hand  in  hand  and  watched  him  play  in  his  boy- 
hood ;  then  he  would  go,  once  more  a  fugitive  from 
himself.  It  was  nearly  four  o'clock  when  he 
passed  through  the  doors  of  the  hotel  upon  the 
street.  Half  an  hour  later  he  had  succeeded  in 
gaining  access  to  the  secluded  grounds  in  the  rear 
of  his  home.  He  needed  the  solitude.  The  quiet 
and  stillness  soothed  his  excitement.  Once  or 
twice  he  heard  children  playing  near  the  house, 
but  they  had  gone  elsewhere.  How  well  he  re- 
membered every  tree  and  path!  St.  Clair  had 
been  faithful  to  his  trust  in  having  taken  splendid 
care  of  the  premises.  He  wondered  if  Alice  ever 
came  and  walked  under  the  trees,  and  rested  upon 
the  rustic  benches,  out  of  the  heat  and  glare  of 
the  sun.  Involuntarily  he  placed  his  hand  in  his 
413 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

pocket  for  the  letter,  with  an  impulse  to  read  it 
over  once  more;  he  pulled  it  from  his  pocket  to 
destroy  it.  That  letter  should  be  no  Nemesis  to 
pursue  him.  He  took  the  envelope  by  the  extreme 
corners — was  that  a  footstep?  He  listened — no. 
He  looked,  saw  no  one,  and  tore  the  envelope  and 
contents  lengthwise — 'twas  the  step  again,  soft, 
like  the  step  of  the  dead.  He  shivered.  The  su- 
perstition was  gaining  that  he  had  conjured  up 
the  spirit  of  the  dead.  Ah,  no.  It  was  someone. 
He  saw  a  woman's  skirt.  It  was  so  close  he  could 
almost  touch  it.  Then  he  rose  and  stood  looking 
into  eyes  that  were  looking  back  at  him. 

"Edward — you  here!"  her  hands  locking  and 
unlocking  convulsively. 

"Alice!     Alice!" 

There  are  impromptus  of  the  heart. 

"You  frightened  me." 

"You  surprised  me."     Both  laughed. 

"Welcome  home,"  extending  her  hand,  self-pos- 
sessed again. 

He  took  her  small  white  hand  within  his  own  a 
trifle  unsteadily. 

"Thank  you.  I  shall  ever  remember  that  after 
a  banishment  of  sixteen  years  you  are  the  only  one 
to  welcome  me."  She  withdrew  her  hand. 

"Haven't  you  seen  the  St.  Clairs?" 

"No,  I  came  in  the  back  way."  She  was  watch- 
ing him  again. 

414 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"Did  I  disturb  you?" 

"Oh,  no." 

"I  pass  much  of  my  time  with  the  St.  Clairs. 
I  supposed  them  in  the  park.  They  will  be  glad 
to  see  you." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"They  and  the  children  are  always  talking  of 
your  home-coming." 

"The  children!" 

"Two  boys  and  two  girls.  Alice,  the  eldest,  is 
nearly  fourteen." 

"Time  has  dealt  kindly  by  you,"  taking  an  in7 
ventory  of  her  features. 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so." 

"What  a  jumbled  up  thing  life  is,  isn't  it?" 

"Sometimes." 

"Do  you  remember  the  conversation  we  once 
had  about  the  'two  worlds  ?'  "  Alice  made  no  reply. 
"I  want  you  to  know,"  he  continued,  "that  all  the 
happiness  my  life  has  known  comes  from  the  world 
I  then  despised." 

"I  misjudged  you,"  she  faltered. 

"And  the  thought  that  I  have  lived,  trying  to 
bring  those  'two  worlds'  nearer  together  must  be 
some  comfort  to  the  little  girl  that  gave  me  my 
first  object  lesson." 

"And  that  girl,"  cried  Alice,  passionately,  go- 
ing to  the  side  of  the  man  and  catching  his  hands, 
her  eyes  shining,  her  face  illumined,  "long  since 
415 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

grown  to  womanhood,  honors  and  reveres  that 
noble  man."  She  did  not  heed  the  pain  of  fingers 
crushed  in  those  strong  hands,  her  gaze  did  not 
waver  before  the  face  across  which  tides,  dashed 
by  lightning  and  storm,  were  swaying. 

There  is  a  limit  to  endurance.  Edward  Reyn- 
olds held  her  hands,  ah!  and  he  would  drag  her 
to  his  breast,  resist  if  she  would,  struggle  if  she 
would,  and  hold  her  there  one  brief  moment  of 
time  and  then — a  tinge  of  pain  darted  through 
the  wounded  shoulder. 

HONOR  ! 

Edward  flung  the  hands  from  him  and  stag- 
gered backward. 

Alice  turned  and  walked  away.  She  had  drawn 
aside  the  mask  of  womanly  reserve  and  he  had 
cast  her  off. 

"Mrs.  Eldridge,"  Edward  said  overtaking  her. 
"You  will  not  mention  my  presence  to  the  St. 
Clairs." 

"Certainly  not,  if  you  wish  it  so."  She  was 
moving  on  again,  then  she  paused  to  ask : 

"Will  you  not  come  into  the  house?  It  will 
soon  be  dark." 

"Yes,  it  will  soon  be  dark,"  he  answered,  "but 
my  life  has  had  a  glorious  sunrise — a  golden  sun- 
set." He  stood  in  the  path  with  outstretched 
hand. 

"Good-bye,  Alice ;  I  leave  to-night." 
416 


"  No  " !     He  Had  Tortured  Her  Enough 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

"To  be  gone "  suddenly  pausing.  What 

did  it  matter  to  her? 

"I  return  to  England." 

"  'England'— good-bye." 

A  ray  of  sunlight  burst  through  the  leaves  and 
rested  upon  the  hands.  Together  they  glanced 
through  the  break,  made  in  the  foliage  by  a  gust 
of  wind,  at  the  western  sky.  The  cross  of  a 
church  divided  the  sun.  As  suddenly  the  sky  was 
obscured,  the  breeze  passed,  the  leaves  fell  back 
in  repose. 

"Alice,  we  made  a  mistake." 

"Perhaps." 

"We  are  parting,  Alice,  forever." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"You  saved  my  life  in  Switzerland " 

"Ah!"     She  shrank  from  his  words. 

"May  I  see  your  arm?" 

"No !"  he  had  tortured  her  enough. 

"Not  so  fast,  Alice.  Once  you  told  me  your 
happiness  required  a  great  sacrifice  of  me,  and  I 
gave  you  your  freedom.  We  shall  never  meet 
again.  If  you  come  to  England  to  live  with  your 
husband " 


'  'My  husband' " 

" — I  will  go  elsewhere.     England  and  Egypt 

are  the  same  to  me.     The  Duke  of  Berwick  and  I 

could  not  breathe  in  the  same  Hemisphere.     But 

the   future  wife   of  an  English  nobleman  would 

417 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

give  her  husband  no  right  to  question  the  last 
parting  grace  of  suffering  lips  to  touch  that 
sacred  scar — that  record  of  the  supplicant's  life. 
Still,  if  you  believe  your  engagement  denies  the 
bestowal  of  such  privilege,  we  can  part  and " 

"My  husband ' 

— "know  that  memories  of  an  unavailing  past 
are  buried  deeper  among  the  ruins  of  the  heart, 
over  which  sleepless  vigils  forever  guard.  Alice, 
no  man  ever  missed  the  highest  consummation  of 
life,  if  that  man  loves  the  truest  and  best  of  wom- 
en. There  is  peace  in  the  very  unrest;  strength 
in  the  shattered  joys;  happiness  in  the  ethereal 
presence.  Love  is  the  Deity  that  reigns  omni- 
potent, supreme.  We  met  without  design;  we 
part  conscious  of  no  wrong.  If  the  Duke  of 
Berwick  stood  by  our  sides,  we  could  do  no  more 
— farewell." 

"Edward! — no — no " 

"Alice !"     It  was  the  cry  of  the  heart. 

Then  two  trembling  hands  took  her  face  and 
held  it  so  their  eyes  met,  and  the  light  of  two 
souls  passed  into  understanding,  even  as  the  gath- 
ering shades  of  night  stole  upon  and  enveloped 
them — that  inextinguishable  light — burning  eter- 
nal upon  the  altars  of  the  throne  of  God. 

******** 

The  Duke  of  Berwick  owns  an  unfinished  paint- 
ing of  his  wife.     "Painted  seven  years  before  our 
418 


EDWARD   REYNOLDS 

marriage,"  he  explains  to  his  friends,  "by 
Michael  Lieb,  the  painter  of  'Renaissance.'  The 
Duchess  and  myself  never  discuss  the  tragic  death 
of  the  artist." 


419 


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